A Stranger Tune
by Emolicious Angel
Summary: AU. John and Sherlock go to school together, John is popular Sherlock isn't. They are forced to chat online every night together for a school program, neither of them knows who the other is, but it will still change both of them. Their friendship develops and even a little romance. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Host And Lament

This is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, and I know I have other fanfics I'm supossed to be writing, but Sherlock is just stuck in my head at the moment. So I had to write this.

Read and Review.

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><p>The loud and obnoxious ringing of the school bell woke John Watson from his sleep. His eyes shot open and he jerked up from where he had been leaning on his hand. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, moving to shove his book and pens into his bag like the rest of the students in the room, trying to stop his still tired fingers from fumbling clumsily and giving him away. He stood from his chair and pulled his backpack onto one shoulder like he always did, his left hand covering his mouth as he yawned tiredly and walked to out of the room, joining the stream of students filing down the halls, impatient to get to lunch.<p>

"Fell asleep again John!" Someone said from beside him, and he gave a guilty chuckle when he saw it was just Greg, one of his mates who was in a few of his classes. They'd been friends since they were about 10, and had played on the same footy team before John decided he was no good and gave it up. Almost everyone called him Lestrade, he preferred it that way. John was one of the only people who could call him Greg. "Better be careful, don't want another detention do you?"

He rolled his eyes and shifted his bag so it was a little more comfortable. "I just need to catch up on some sleep. I was up all night finishing that bloody Essay we got last week."

"That's not due till tomorrow, you knew that right?"

"I'm not an idiot Greg. But I have some other stuff to finish tonight, so I wanted to get it done." The lunch room wasn't too crowded today, John noticed happily as they walked into the slightly large room. All the students in their last two years of school had a lunch area separate to the rest of the school. It was a bit smaller than a normal lunch room, but they had a small café type shop, and the food here was better. The got in line and bought some lunch (Greg got a burger, and John got a cup of tea from the café), and they wandered over to their usual table.

John wasn't overly close with any of the people he hung out with other than Greg, but Greg was friends with Donovan and Anderson, so they usually sat with them at their table. His mood perked up a little when he noticed Molly sitting at the table too. Molly was a nice girl, she was pretty smart, though she was shy and didn't like to show it off. She spent a lot of her lunches in the science labs or the library, so John was pleased to see her when she did show up. She was better to talk to than Donovan or Anderson.

"Hello Molly." He greeted as he sat down next to her, giving her a friendly smile.

"Oh, hey John, did you get that essay done yet?"

"Yeah last night, didn't finish until past 2 in the bloody morning. Had a bit of trouble with some of the research, it took most of the time. Want to read over it for me?" He asked hopefully. She giggled in amusement, her hand already held out for it before the sentence finished leaving his mouth. He handed it to her gratefully after pulling it out of his bag. She read over most of his essays for him, to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

He sat quietly for a while after that, the others talking with each other and Molly reading over his essay, making a few notes in a red pen. Less than he'd thought. That was promising. He sipped quietly at his tea, but he was drawn from his own thoughts by Sally's loud voice. "Hey, what's the freak doing here?" She asked, a little louder than she needed too.

John glanced up and followed her gaze, already knowing who he was going to see. A familiar figure had just passed the table, and John almost missed the way his head tilted as Sally spoke, but that was the only reaction she got. "Since when does he come in here with the rest of us?" She sneered, arms folding over her chest. John felt it was a little rude but didn't say anything.

He glanced again across the room, to where Sherlock Holmes was standing in line at the little café. Sherlock was more than a bit weird, everybody knew that. And almost everybody let him know it too, John had noticed. He'd only come to the school a year before, and everybody was interested in the new kid at first, but that hadn't lasted long. Sherlock was a genius, nobody wanted to acknowledge it, but everybody knew it. And it made them uncomfortable. John had never actually spoken to the other teen, but he'd been told that Sherlock had a freakish ability to know things about people he shouldn't.

He placed an order at the counter and then stood to the side, one hand in his pocket; the other typing on his phone, something John had seen him doing a fair bit. He had no idea who he would be texting, and that question was a popular discussion with a lot of the other kids. Especially Donovan, Anderson and few of the other kids that hung around with them. The woman behind the counter handed him a coffee cup, the disposable kind, and then he was walking through the cafeteria, his long legs carrying him quickly across the room, like he had somewhere to be.

His gaze was on his phone as he walked past, paying no attention to anything around him, and considering that, John had to give him some credit, he was almost quick enough to miss the leg Anderson stuck out in front of him. John saw him notice it a second too late, the look of frustration that shot across his sharp features as he tripped, dropping his phone to grab the table on the other side and stop himself from falling completely. Some of his coffee spilt onto his hand, but he showed no sign that it hurt him, despite the steam rising from the cup, showing just how hot it was.

Everyone at the table, and those around who had seen started laughing, except John and Molly. Molly looked sad and just looked down at the table, obviously not game enough to say anything.

"Come on Anderson," John said, though he had a smile on his face as he spoke, "Don't be a dick, leave him be." John didn't like to cause trouble like the others did, he didn't actually bully anyone. He had too strong a moral code for that, but just like most teenagers, he was drawn in to stupid games, couldn't help be but at least a little amused by simple things.

Sherlock quickly scooped his phone off the ground, sliding it into his pocket and straightened the expensive looking jacket he wore, which was really quite tight. But he'd been dressing like that since he'd started coming to the school, tight shirts and tight jackets, and black coats when it was cold.

"Have a nice trip freak?" Sally asked, causing everyone to laugh again.

He wiped his hand on a tissue he'd pulled from his pocket and ignoring their laughs turned his blue eyes on Anderson. His gaze lingered for only a second before he smirked and picked his coffee cup up from the table. "Well, I can see that despite your act of bravado and attempts to look like your showing off, you actually decided to trip me because you have a subconscious need to cause somebody else pain, due to the fact that your father lost his job on the weekend and your mother is thinking about leaving him for the man she's been seeing for the past 4 months." There was an awkward silence as everybody looked between Sherlock and Anderson, no one sure what to say.

Sherlock's grin grew slightly more pleased, knowing he had won, and then he strode out of the room, leaving everyone else in shock.

'Well fuck." Was all John could say, when 5 minutes later Anderson awkwardly confirmed what Sherlock had said.

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><p>The rest of Johns day was rather uneventful. In his last class of the day, one of the two classes he shared with Greg, Donovan Anderson and Sherlock, they were told that tomorrow they would be getting a new major task. And after much moaning and groaning from the almost the entire class the teacher had given in and told them that this task was not a normal task, and was actually a program which would be undertaken by every student in the school but that was all they could get out of her.<p>

By the time John got home later that afternoon he was exhausted. He'd barely managed to stay awake during the lesson, and had found himself drifting off more than once, but he knew he couldn't go straight upstairs and sleep. He had things to do. He pushed the door closed loudly behind him and kicked off his shoes. He could hear giggling and the clang of kitchen appliances from the other room and sighed in frustration. So Harry was over for a few days again. Probably kicked out by her girlfriend once again.

He slipped upstairs and stayed locked in his room for a few hours to do his homework, only emerging when he heard the smoke alarm going off the kitchen and had to rush down to put out a small fire on the stove. He'd had a good yell at Harry until she'd retreated to the spare bedroom. He glared in dismay at the burned mess that was supposed to be his dinner, knowing he didn't have enough money to get takeout, or anything else for that matter.

John wasn't amazingly poor, but his father was trying to support both of them and Harry on a shit salary and long hours, it wasn't easy and they couldn't afford much. He dropped the pan in the sink and walked angrily upstairs. He was pretty hungry, but the fridge was pretty much empty until their dad got back from whatever stupid work trip he was on, or until he put a bit of cash in the bank for John. But he was tired enough that at least he could just go to sleep without it bothering him.

He stayed up only long enough to strip out of his dark blue sweater, school shirt and trousers before he slid under the covers and fell into a relaxing and warm sleep.

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><p>By the next day news of the new program they would all be doing had spread, and the school was alive with rumours and discussions about what it could be. At first John was just as curious as the rest of them, and the rumours were interesting, but by the time it was the end of lunch he'd heard things so stupid he thought everyone in the school ought to be held back a few years. He'd heard one of the younger kids telling his friend he swore he heard a teacher say they were going to make them all take drugs to turn them into zombies. And another kid thought that the school was going to start a circus show and they'd be trained as the shows acts.<p>

It was one of the longest school days of Johns life, and he was quite relieved when it finally reached his last period and they were all seated, their small, and very pretty teacher wandering around the room handing out envelopes to each student, their names on the front. Giving them very firm instructions not to open them until they got home. "The school has joined a new program the government has started to encourage socialising among teenagers." She explained, rolling her eyes as she handed out the envelopes. "An instant messaging site has been created for the students of the school. Each student has an account on this site. This task is being completed by every student in the school. You have been randomly paired, each of you given a partner from any age group in the school."

Everyone exchanged glances, but no one interrupted. "You don't know who your partner is, and they don't know who you are. The partner you have been given is the only person you can talk to on the site. You are not allowed to try and tell your partner who you are, and they are not allowed to tell you. If you're caught breaking the rules you will be given detention, and suspension will be considered."

One of the girls down the front, a pretty red head who's name John always had trouble remembering put her hand up. "Is this compulsory?"

"Yes. Your teachers will be cutting down your homework load, and you will be required to spend a minimum of one hour on the site a night. The only rules are that you do the minimum time required, you don't reveal who you are, and you don't try and get your partner too. No one is allowed to share their usernames. This is a very serious program, it will go towards your final mark at the end of the year, so I urge you all to not be stupid about it. Any questions?"

A few people asked questions, but it was all pretty much a simple thing. A chat room with a possible stranger, anyone in the school without a way to tell who it was. They were told that for the first night everyone had to sign in at 6pm, and then they could discuss a time for everyday with whoever they got paired with. He didn't really understand the point of the task, but he accepted the idea rather quickly. He wanted to pass this year, and he wasn't going to complain about such an easy way to get marks.

At the end of the lesson John took his time packing his stuff, he was getting a lift from Sally today, so he wasn't in a rush. The teacher hurried out of the room muttering about something or other to herself, and the rest of the student's rushed out. John walked towards the front, eyeing the group for Sally and Greg, and sighed when he spotted them at the front of the room, blocking Sherlock Holmes from leaving the room.

He knew this was a bit of a common occurrence, they liked to give him a bit of trouble after school when there were no teachers around, but usually he wasn't around for it. Sherlock mostly just looked bored, his messenger bag slung over on shoulder and resting against his hip, his hands adjusting the scarf he had placed around his neck. "So, freak. Are you going to apologise for yesterday?" Sally asked her arms once again folded.

Greg was sitting on a desk, Sally, Anderson and one of their other friends standing in his way, grins n their faces. John wandered over slowly, but stayed back a little, keeping his mouth shut.

"No." Sherlock replied simply, moving his hands from his scarf to fix his hair a little. John frowned when out of nowhere Anderson stepped forward and shoved Sherlock hard. John was surprised when Sherlock just took it, but then what could he do. It was 4 on 1. And after a moment he realised it must seem like 5 on 1, because with the way John was standing there not doing anything it must look like he was in on it to.

"You should watch your mouth next time, loser." Anderson spat, shoving him again. "Do you think your clever, because you're sick and twisted mind can spot when some ones having troubles? I reckon you get off on it." He grabbed Sherlock's arm and spun him so he could get a grip on the other one, their other friend stepping forward to punch Sherlock in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain. But he made no noise.

"Guys," John said casually, after he'd been hit another few times, twice by Donavon. "I hate to spoil your little party here, but I really need to get home." Sherlock's hair was in his face and his breathing sounded kind of painful.

"Come on John, would it really hurt to wait a little longer?" Donavon asked, her smile a little twisted as Sherlock grunted as he was punched again, this time a little harder.

"Yes, it would Sally." He said, stepping forward. "I have to get home, Harry is over again." He glanced at Sherlock, who was hanging kind of loosely in Anderson's arms. "And if you hit him again it's going to leave proper bruises. He could have you charged. If you're going to be stupid enough to hit him at least don't leave proof."

"Are you sure John?"

John looked over at Sherlock again. He wasn't telling the truth, not really, if they hit him somewhere else, on the other side of his body, or higher up a little, the bruising wouldn't be as serious, probably not visible. But he decided they didn't need to know that. He only knew it because his mother had been a doctor, and he'd read most of her books on medical stuff like this. "Yes I'm sure."

Greg stood up from his spot on the table and grabbed Anderson's arm. "Alright let him go, I think he gets the point mate." Anderson let go of Sherlock's arms and he dropped to his knees, catching himself before he could fall properly. John shook his head as they laughed and started making their way out of the room, Greg tossing Sherlock's messenger back to him as he walked past.

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet quickly and eyed John after pushing his hair out of his face. He straightened his clothes and John held out his bag without a word. Sherlock, trying not to show his pain stepped forward and took it, and then walked past him to the door, hanging his bag over his shoulder despite how uncomfortable it would be after being punched multiple times in the torso. "Idiot." John mumbled as he walked out of the room and jogged after his mates, taking barely a second to notice that Sherlock had walked in the opposite direction, to take the long way out of the school.

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><p>"How was school John?" Harry slurred later that night at the table, as they ate their crap dinner of hot chips and a piece each of crumbed fish from a box. "Have a good day?"<p>

"Sure Harry." He mumbled around his food. "I have spend an hour every night talking to someone I don't even know and I watched my friends beat up a guy in my class."

Her hair fell in her sauce as she slumped a little, and he reached over and pulled it out, cleaning it with a napkin trying to get it out as best as he could. "Well, that's no good is it John, you shouldn't be a bully."

"Well he was a bit of a smart ass, not surprised they did it really. But yeah I probably could have stopped it before I did. I dunno. It's not really my business is it? They would have done worse had I not stopped them at all. That's got to count for something."

Despite how drunk she was the look she gave him was completely serious, the look an older sister always gives her brother when he's wrong and should probably know it. He sighed and dropped his fork. He'd barely eaten half the meal, which wasn't good considering all he'd eaten at school was an apple and half a pack of crisps, but he just couldn't eat anymore. He mumbled an excuse about doing his homework and wandered upstairs.

It was almost 6 already so he turned on his laptop (a gift from Harry before her alcohol problem got as serious as it was now), and fished his envelope out of his bag. Inside was a piece of paper reminding him of the rules of the task, and a sheet of paper with his username and password and the website he had to go to.

He quickly signed in, and realised quickly that the site was designed to be easy to figure out and use. It was just a normal chat screen, and in friends list it had just a little box that was lit green, the words online next to it. He didn't know if it meant him or the person he was meant to be talking to, so he hesitantly typed out a short message.

**Host795: **Hello? Its 6, anyone there?

He waited patiently for a moment before a little picture of a pen appeared in the bottom left of the screen, which he took as a good sign, usually that meant someone was writing a reply message.

_**Lament975: **_I'm here.

**Host975: **Oh, hey :) I guess we're partners for this then.

_**Lament975: **_It would seem so.

John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. What was he supposed to say now? He hardly spoke to his friends online, so what was he supposed to say to someone he probably hadn't met. Someone who obviously didn't seem too keen on this conversation thing either.

**Host975: **I don't really know what to talk about actually. This is a bit weird. I think it would have been easier if we could know who we were talking to.

_**Lament975: **_I doubt that making things easy for us was on their minds. They never seem to enjoy making things easier for us. Of course I don't know how old you are. You might not have experienced that yet.

**Host975: **I'm in my final year. I know all about how much they hate us.

_**Lament975: **_Interesting.

**Host975: **What is?

_**Lament975: **_I'm in my final year too.

**Host975: **We're in the same year? I probably know you then.

_**Lament975: **_Perhaps… But it is a rather large group. What was your view point for the essay due tomorrow? I'm curious.

**Host975: **How do I know you're not trying to copy me?

_**Lament975: **_Because I'm already done, and if someone copies you this conversation is proof that it's your work not mine, though that's not a problem because I'm finished mine. Tell me?"

After a moment's hesitation john finally gave in, and they spent the next two hours discussing the topic for the essay, arguing with each other over certain aspects and agreeing on others, but eventually John found himself too tired to concentrate, despite how early it was.

**Host975: **I'd better go, need to sleep. I'm pretty tired.

_**Lament975: **_It's only 8. Are you ill?

**Host975: **Just tired, haven't been sleeping well.

Plus his not eating properly hadn't been helping much either, but he wasn't going to mention that. He rubbed his eyes and pulled his shirt off while still sitting at his desk, getting ready to sleep while he waited for a reply.

_**Lament975: **_Alright… same time tomorrow? Or would another time be more convenient?

**Host975: **6 is fine. Talk tomorrow.

_Your partner has gone offline. _

John snorted and closed the laptop, standing to strip to his pants and climb into bed. He felt tired and sore, even though he hadn't done anything during the day, but he was grateful to be in his bed anyway. He fell asleep with the sounds of the TV and Harry's drunk giggling drifting up the stairs to his room.

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><p>So? Thoughts? It's pretty crap, but meh, I'll still probably write more anyway.<p> 


	2. The Girl With The Book

Sorry it took so long to get chapter 2 up, have been a bit busy with starting University.

This one is a bit longer I think, sorry it's not amazing, but I hope you enjoy it. I'm sorry if they are a bit out of character, let me know if there is any serious issues, but it is AU, so most of it should be alright. Also as the chapters progress there will be more of that chat speak, so hopefully it doesn't bother anyone.

Hope you like it.

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><p>All anyone could talk about the next day was the computer task, and It dominated conversation at the lunch table that day, everyone talking about what they'd talked about, and everyone made sure to repeat at least ten times how they wished they knew who they were talking to. John found it a little annoying really, but he couldn't complain. He was just as curious as the rest of them, and he had voiced that fact a few times as well.<p>

Their teachers for their first classes told them they weren't allowed to tell each other the details of their conversations, because it risked them finding out who their partner was. But they were allowed to speak about the little details. And every single student was going out of their way to try and get around that rule, to push it to its limits. John spent the rest of that day paying more attention than he ever had to his classmates. He knew his conversation partner was in the same year as him, but who could it be?

He quickly ruled out a few people, the ones who never did any class work or the homework tasks. Whoever he'd been talking to last night had done the essay, done their research and knew what they were talking about. But that didn't narrow it down much. Only a few per class he was in. And there was a pretty decent number of people he didn't share any classes with, so it could just as easily be one of them.

At the lunch table they all sat to discuss what they knew about their partners, well as much as they could without actually talking about their conversations. Which ended up being a little harder than it sounded, but they managed to find their way around the rule enough. Anderson told them he'd discovered his partner was a girl about two years younger than them, and he sounded more than a little pleased when he said it. John tried not to laugh at the frown Sally gave him when he said it.

"Mines in their final year like us." John got in when there was a small break in conversation.

"Mine too." Molly said with a smile from beside him. Sally said she'd found that out about her partner too. Greg didn't know about his, but thought they sounded a bit young, probably from one of the lower years.

"Any ideas who it is John?" Molly whispered conspiratorially when they were all distracted again, her eyes scanning the area around them to make sure no one was listening. They could get in a lot of trouble for talking about it. But they were teenagers; John reckoned they'd be mad if they thought the students weren't going to just because they threatened with detention and suspension. It had never stopped them before.

"I have no bloody clue at all. What about you?"

She shook her head and leaned back casually. "Nope, don't know. I've been trying to figure it out all day but it's just so hard. It could be pretty much anyone really."

John nodded and sipped from his water bottle thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the slightly crowded room. But it didn't matter how much he tried, he couldn't get any closer to figuring it out. There were too many people. And although he was curious, it didn't bother him as much as it should have. It didn't bother him as much as it seemed to be annoying some of the other students. It wasn't really so terrible was it? Having someone to talk to who couldn't judge you because of your name, or what you wear, or how popular you were. Really that site was just a place to have a good conversation without the worries of someone judging you.

"I wonder who got stuck with Holmes." Greg said after a while with a little laugh. "I feel sorry for whoever they are."

"I bet he's just as annoying online as he is in person." Anderson said, leaning back in his seat, a smug look on his face which was probably because of what they'd done the day before. "Probably told the poor kid everything about themselves before the conversation even started. He's such a freak."

"You never know." John cut in, leaning forward. "Maybe he's the complete opposite while he's on the computer. It would be too easy to guess it was him if he acted like himself. But then, probably only the older kids know who he is so I'm probably wrong. Chances are he's paired with a younger kid."

"I think about half of us are paired together, the other half are paired with the younger kids, probably some kind of experiment." Molly said, changing the subject. John raised his eyebrows but said nothing as the others started questioning what kind of experiment they could be doing, what they might be watching for or trying to do.

John hadn't seen Sherlock all day, so he didn't know the damage that had been done by the multiple punches he'd received the day before. He was one of the first people in the classroom and seated at the end of the day, so he was there to see the other teen walk in. John felt a little bad when he noticed the way Sherlock was walking, clearly in pain though he was standing tall and trying to hide it. His hands were holding his bag oddly, keeping the strap away from his body, and holding some of the weight too. He glanced in John's direction, caught him staring. He quickly looked down, busying himself with getting his book out for class. When he glanced back a few minutes later, Sherlock was in his seat, a frown on his face as he searched through his bag.

Anderson had to walk past Sherlock to get to his seat, and as he passed he patted Sherlock roughly on the back, causing the curly haired teen to wince and clutch at his side. They must have been hitting him harder than John had thought. Maybe he should have stopped them a little earlier. He didn't want to feel guilty though, for Sherlock's pain, so he just continued to tell himself that really Sherlock was lucky he'd stopped them at all. In the back of his head though he knew a good person wouldn't have let it happen at all.

And it was that thought that had him deciding to play the hero when the bell had rung, though a part of him was angry for doing it. When the lesson ended he saw the guys eyeing Sherlock again, and he knew that Anderson wanted another go at him. "Hey guys lets go get some chips for lunch or something." He said, slipping his backpack onto his back. "I'll pay." He added reluctantly, silently adding up how much money he had in the bank, and what he had in his wallet. He couldn't really afford to buy food for everyone, and he knew he'd regret it within the next few days. But he couldn't just stand around and watch them beat up Sherlock again. He'd done it yesterday, and he didn't want to be that kind of person again.

But he wasn't willing to risk his friends to straight out tell them to stop. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, his gaze on John, but he didn't say anything. Though it was clear he wanted to. The guys agreed happily, turning their attention to John, allowing Sherlock to walk out of the classroom after the rest of the students giving John a curious look as he passed. John sighed as he left with the group, heading towards the shops. It would have been easier to have just let them hit Sherlock again, but at least he knew he'd done the right thing. He'd just have to skip lunch again tomorrow. And call his dad to try and get some more money.

When finally got home that afternoon Harry was sprawled across the couch, some reality show playing with the volume way to loud, and obnoxious music screeching from her phone, which was laying on the floor next to her.

"You gunna answer that Harry?" He asked as he turned down the volume of the TV.

"No, she's been calling all day." She replied, arm thrown of her eyes, and bottle of vodka in her other hand, tilted dangerously and threatening to pour out all over the carpet. She hadn't had that yesterday, and John was too worried to ask where she got the money to buy it. Hopefully she just had some cash stashed that he didn't know about.

"That's why you should answer." He took the vodka from her and sat it on the coffee table. "Your hair is disgusting." He touched a strand and made a face. It was greasy and was in need of a serious wash. "Get up, you need to shower." He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, putting a steadying hand on her waist as they walked upstairs. He closed the lid of the toilet and sat her on it, pouring a glass of water from the bathroom sink.

"Drink this." He handed her the glass and wandered down to the spare bedroom, taking a minute to find her some clean clothes, because he knew she wouldn't do it herself. It was frustrating for him, having to look after her like this. None of his friends had to look after older siblings like this. None of his friends had to look after anyone the way he looked after Harry. Her alcohol problem was worse than ever, and she could barely look after herself at all. He tried not to be angry at her for it, she'd only gone downhill badly after their mother had died, but he couldn't help but have at least a small amount of resentment.

He hadn't tossed away his life when she'd died, so why did Harry get to drink away all her feelings and leave John to deal with everything. He bought her clean clothes into the bathroom and sat them on the sink. He turned on the taps and waited for the water to heat up before he adjusted it for her. "Alright, can I trust you enough to let you shower alone without drowning yourself?" He asked with a sigh, leaning against the door frame.

"I'm not a baby John." She snapped, starting to get undressed.

"You might as well be." He muttered, closing the door only half the way behind him so he could hear if she fell over or something.

He left her to shower while he went into the bedroom and opened up his laptop. It was about ten past six, so he was late to get one to chat. It didn't take long for his computer to turn on, and he went straight to the chat site and logged in. The little green box on the side told him his partner was already online and he quickly typed a message.

**Host975: **Hey, sorry I'm late. I was in the middle of something important. Didn't realise what the time was.

**Lament975: **It's fine. I've been online for a while anyway.

**Host975: **Alright then. How was your day then?

He picked up the computer and carried it to his bed, glancing at the door as he sat down. He could still hear the water running in the bathroom, so he'd have to go check on Harry soon to make sure she was alright. A glance at his screen told him his partner was typing a message. He sat on the bed and leaned up against the wall, the laptop on his legs, a little more comfortable than the chair at his desk.

**Lament975: **Boring and interesting.

**Host975: **How could it be boring and interesting at the same time?

**Lament975: **School is always boring, the teachers are boring and the classes are boring.

**Host975: **Alright, I agree with you there, the classes are all boring. But what was interesting then?

**Lament975: **Nothing really, someone did something that surprised me. Unimportant.

**Host975: **Fair enough I guess. At least your day wasn't too boring then.

**Lament975: **Was yours?

**Host975: **Yeah Lol, classes felt like forever and friends being idiots. Like always. But no surprises there.

**Lament975: **Yes well most of the people in our year are idiots.

**Host975: **I don't know whether to agree with you or be offended that I could possibly be one of the people you consider an idiot.

**Lament975: **I don't know, do you act like an idiot?

**Host975: **Well I'd like to hope not.

**Lament975: **I don't know. Probably not if it makes you feel better.

**Host975: **Not so sure it does mate. Haha.

John looked up when he heard the shower stop running and quickly typed in a message before his partner could reply.

**Host975**: G2g help my sister with something.

**Host975: **Will you be here when I get back? Or are we done for the night?

**Lament975: **I'll be here.

**Host975: **Be right back.

He closed his laptop and slipped off the bed, the spot on his lap warm from machines heat. He waited outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall while Harry got dressed. Something she actually managed to do herself while drunk. A fact which John was very grateful for. He didn't want to have to dress his sister. That may have been a bit too much for him to have to deal with.

When Harry was tucked safely into her bed, and the house was locked up for the night John went back into his room and logged back onto the computer, half expecting Lament to be offline. He'd been gone a little longer than he'd expected, Harry had been slightly difficult, but when the screen lit back up the little box on the side was still green.

**Host975: **Back. Sorry it took so long.

**Lament975: **I don't mind. How old is your sister?

**Host975: **22.

**Lament975: **Does she live with you?

**Host975: **No, she's got her own place. But she's staying here for a week or two. She does that sometimes.

**Lament975: **Are you close?

John considered the question for a moment, hoping his pause wouldn't be too obvious while he considered his answer. Once upon a time he and Harry were close, they were very close. But now? He wasn't so sure. He still cared for her just as much. But now it was a burden to see her. It made him more sad than it did happy. He had to stress about her health, the house, how they were going to feed her as well when she kept spending all their money on alcohol.

No, they weren't close anymore.

But should he be honest with his partner about it. His first instinct was to lie, and say they were. But then he realized that he didn't actually know the person he was talking to, and they didn't know who he was. Couldn't he be honest? It wasn't like with his mates at school, who knew almost nothing about his life. He didn't have to worry about stupid jokes, or pitying looks when he mentioned Harry, because they only times they talked would be online. He thought it might be nice to be honest for once. Greg and Molly knew that Harry liked to have a drink, but they didn't know how bad it was. And he hated lying all the time.

**Host975: **No we aren't. We used to be, but she has a drinking problem so you know….

**Lament975: **I'd say I'm sorry but I feel that pity isn't something you want.

**Host975: **No It isn't.

There was a slightly longer gap before the next reply was sent. And John was slightly nervous that he'd ruined the conversation.

**Lament975:** ….So have you finished reading the book we were given last week?

John laughed quietly and typed in his reply. Harry wasn't mentioned again for the rest of the conversation.

* * *

><p>John spent the rest of his week in quite a similar pattern. He went to school and did his work, kept an eye on his idiot friends, chatted with Molly, who sat with them for the rest of the week, came home and looked after Harry, did his homework and then got online and chatted for the rest of the night. Sometimes they didn't talk much, they'd just do their own things for a while, and make little comments about something or other they'd just seen on some website. But that was usually only for an hour or so, and then they'd start talking again.<p>

They discovered they'd read a few of the same books, books that weren't for class, and so they spent a bit of time discussing those, what they thought of the characters and the plot. They tended to have pretty different views a lot of the time, but on the most obvious bad stuff they always agreed.

On Thursday, after they'd been talking for 4 days, he asked the rest of his friends how long they usually chatted each night. Anderson and Sally said they talked to their partners for about an hour, sometimes a little longer, but never longer than two. Molly and Greg said they talked to their partners for at least three hours every day. When asked in return, he said simply "Just a few, probably not much more than Molly and Greg."

He didn't feel bad for not telling the truth. He and his partner talked for hours every night, and they didn't need to know that. They'd probably just find a way to give him shit for it. John always got on at 6, so far this week his partner had always been online waiting for him. They never got off before 10pm, though usually John had to get off by 11 to sleep because he was just too tired to keep his eyes open and look at the screen anymore.

Friday morning he figured where their screen names came from. He was walking from his first class to his second, and had his eyes on his phone reading a text Molly had just sent him. All of a sudden he was hitting something solid and in a tangle of legs and trying to correct his balance he slipped on the floor, wet from the rain on every ones shoes, and hit the hard ground painfully. Feeling his leg twist in a painful way that he knew instantly would cause him a fair bit of pain for a week or two.

He looked up quickly, hissing in pain as he shifted, and saw that he'd bumped into a girl in the year below them, who he knew instantly would have had her nose in a book, as she always did when he saw her walking the halls. "God I'm sorry." He apologized quickly, grabbing a small paperback from where it had fallen next to him. He very nearly missed the tittle on the cover as he held it out, but he noticed the familiar word and frowned, taking a proper look before she took it from his hand. Lament. "I was looking at my phone, didn't mean to knock you over."

There wasn't too many people left in the halls, just a few, but those that remained laughed as they passed. The girl blushed and shoved the book into her bag. "It's alright, it happens all the time." John pushed himself to his feet, trying not to wince at the ache that had already formed in his right leg, and held out a hand to help her to his feet. She mumbled a thanks and scurried down the hall in a hurry to get to her next class.

John looked around for his folder, and spotted it a little bit to his left where it had fallen when he left go of it. He stepped forward onto his right foot, ready to bend over and pick it up, but as soon as he started to bend a sharp pain shot through his leg, and he let out a yelp of pain as it went out from underneath him.

But he didn't hit the ground again. A firm hand caught his arm and kept him from falling. He let the hand help him steady himself, not letting go until he was able to stand properly. John's cheeks heated up as he quickly straightened his sweater and turned to say thanks. His words caught in his throat as he looked up at the face of Sherlock Holmes, who was watching him with his intense blue-grey eyes, a few locks of his black curls hanging stylishly over his forehead.

He was sure his surprise shows on his face, but he quickly adjusted his expression into one of gratitude. "I uh… thanks for that." He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled nervously. He'd never actually spoken to Sherlock before; he had a bit of an intimidating air about him, which didn't help when added with Johns embarrassment at having been saved from falling for a second time.

The taller boys' lips twitched slightly in amusement. "No problem." He replied. He had his hands in his trouser pockets, the bottom of his tight, dark blue blazer pushed up and out of the way.

"It's Sherlock right?" John asked, shifting on his left leg, already uncomfortable from keeping all of his weight on it.

"Yes it is, though you probably know me better as 'freak'" John was surprised by how casually he said that, as if the fact that people called him a freak meant absolutely nothing to him. Which, John thought was probably true. He didn't seem to care at all, in fact he really just seemed more interested in using it to see how John might react. Though it was entirely possible that it affected him more than he was letting on.

He frowned slightly and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Sherlock sounds about right to me." His phone buzzed in his back pocket where he'd put it but he ignored it. They were the last two people left in the hall now, everybody was in their classes, it didn't matter. He had history now, and the teacher didn't give a crap what they did. As long as they showed up in the first half of the lesson they were fine. He remembered Sherlock had the same class as him now. ""Sally's just an idiot."

"Yes, she is." Sherlock agreed his voice still quiet as usual. "But then, so is pretty much everyone in this school."

John didn't really know what to say to that, so he shifted his weight again, moving to bend down and get his folder, this time keeping his weight on the leg that didn't hurt. Sherlock's hand on his arm again stopped him and he watched as the taller boy bent down and picked it up for him. He flipped it in his hand and held it out to John, reminding him of the way he'd simply held out the other boy's bag for him a few days before. He had a feeling Sherlock did that on purpose.

"Thanks mate." He mumbled, taking it from his great fully, holding it against his side. "Look…" He started awkwardly, hand moving to the back of his neck again. "I'm sorry about Monday."

Sherlock frowned slightly. "Sorry for what? You're the one who lied and convinced them to stop." John felt a little surprised that Sherlock knew he'd been lying.

"I'm sorry for not stopping them sooner."

Sherlock just shrugged, but he could tell that he looked kind of pleased with what John said. "It's unimportant." He said nonchalantly, waving on of his hands, which had emerged from his pocket. "But I feel I should thank you for Tuesday." He looked a little awkward saying it, and John got the feeling he didn't thank people for things very often.

"It's no big deal; they were stupid for considering doing it again. Hell, they were stupid for considering doing it the first time."

"That wasn't the first time, just the first time you were there for it." He said with another wave of his hand. "But that's not the point I'm trying to make." He continued slightly impatiently. "What I mean is, I should thank you for the way you did it, because I know you couldn't actually afford to pay for their lunch, but you did it anyway."

"Wait what?" John felt his pulse speed up a little, and a heavy feeling settle in the pit of his stomach. How did he know that? Did anybody else know? "I don't… I mean…" He ran a hand over his face, and decided against denying it. "How do you know that? I don't… that's not something I want people knowing."

"It was obvious really. You winced when you offered, and your hand moved automatically to the pocket you keep your wallet in, obviously thinking about how much was in there. You mentioned someone being at your home that you needed to be there for, so no parent's at home. You keep a woman's silver chain around your neck, clearly your mothers, she's passed away that's why you're wearing it, so your father is trying to support you alone, and not at home. So a job he has to travel for, probably for long periods of time. Your shoes are old and scuffed but you haven't replaced them, the same with most of your shirts. Slightly frayed at the hems, but you wear them anyway."

He paused to survey John face for a moment before continuing. "Also when I saw you at lunch the other day you were drinking tea and not eating, though you were clearly hungry because you kept glancing towards the shop as though you were debating whether or not you should buy some lunch."

John just stared at him, not sure what he could say. Had he really noticed all of that? And put it all together to make the right conclusion. And what could he say now; it was already clear just from his reaction that everything Sherlock said was right.

"None of your friends know how serious the situation is I assure you." John wanted to ask how he could be so sure, but felt it would be a stupid question, especially after everything Sherlock had just said.

"Alright, yeah... so this has been kind of awkward." He swallowed and glanced away, not really wanting to look him in the face after that. "Could you um, I mean, please keep it to yourself? It's just not something I want spread around."

He chuckled and shifted the strap on his messenger bag, pulling it further up his shoulder. "Don't be foolish John; I'm not going to tell anybody. I have no reason too. I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't want you to understand that I appreciate what you did."

"How did you do that?" He asked curiously, "I mean, sure people told me you could do that, but…"

"You didn't believe them?"

"Well, sort of. But it's a bit surprising to see you do it in person. I don't know whether to be impressed about it, or angry that you know so much about me without me even telling you."

"Most people tend to move straight to the anger." He answered, looking down the hall. "We have the same class now. Would you like some help to get to the nurses office? You look like you're in quite a bit of pain."

"I'd rather just go straight to class actually."

"It's going to swell if you don't put ice on it, and the healing time will take longer than needed. Though I don't need to tell you this, you've already read enough medical books to know it yourself."

John shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask." He muttered, though he had to be honest with himself, he was pretty impressed. It was a little weird talking to Sherlock, nobody spoke to him he didn't speak to them either, and John had always just sort of gone alone with it, sticking with everyone else's idea that he was a freak and should be avoided. He was a bit weird, John wasn't going to deny it, but he was starting to think he didn't really deserve the way everybody seemed to treat him. Him being a git and saying things he shouldn't about people's lives tended to be a fair bit deserved.

"I think I can walk by myself." He said, putting weight on his leg. It hurt like hell, but he expected it this time, and it didn't go out from under him.

"Would you like me to walk with you just in case? Or should I go to class. You've already talked to me more than most people can manage before they tell me to piss off."

John stared for a second and then laughed. It wasn't really appropriate and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. When he stopped he shook his head, smiling slightly. "I still can't believe you say stuff like that so calmly. Doesn't it make you angry or something? It must get annoying."

"It's annoying," He admitted, "But I'm not going to let them bother me because they don't like that I'm different. At the end of the day, I'm still much smarter than them. I feel that's a victory by itself."

"Well I don't think I'd have the patience that you do." He started limping towards the nurses office, and stopped when Sherlock hesitated. "You can come. I'll probably need your help anyway."

Sherlock nodded and quickly caught up, walking at John's side. They didn't speak for the rest of the walk, which only took a few minutes –thankfully they were quite close- and he hovered by the door while John spoke to the nurse and got a bag of ice. He had to spend a good five minutes arguing with her about if he should go home or not. If Harry wasn't staying at the house he would have jumped on the opportunity to go home for the day, but he just didn't want to deal with her, so he argued until she finally said he could go to class.

Sherlock hovered by his side as they walked back to class, somehow having come to a silent and mutual agreement not to rush. "I can pay you back." The taller boy said, looking sideways at John. "For the money you spent. I'd like to give back whatever it cost you."

"No."

Sherlock seemed surprised by his answer. He brushed his curls off his face a bit and stared down at John. "Why not? I can easily afford it."

He sighed and pressed the bag of ice a little firmer against the bottom of his hip where he was holding it. He'd move it further onto his leg once he was in class. "Because I don't want you to. I don't need pity and I don't want you giving me money." He said the second part quietly, but he knew the curly haired teen heard him.

He didn't say anything else until they were down the hall from their classroom. "I'm going to leave now; I'm assuming you can make into the classroom without hurting yourself again."

"You're not coming to history?"

"No, your friends are in there, it's just easier if you don't have to explain why entered the classroom with me. And I'm already weeks ahead anyway, so it doesn't matter if I miss a lesson."

John felt guilty that he was leaving just because he would get shit for being seen with Sherlock. 'I don't really care. It's not actually their business."

Sherlock smiled, but it was his eyes that gave away that he was amused. "Doesn't matter. Thanks again John." He strode off down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

John made his way to class alone, a small smile on his face but regret in his stomach from knowing that he had completely misjudged Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p>Well what do you think? I know, it wasn't very exciting, but hey their first conversation!<p>

Okay so, if anybody wants to see anything in particular happen in this fic, write it in a review, and I will pick 1 or 2 of those things, and add them in for you. So just let me know what you want to see, and I'll see what I can do.


	3. Chapter 3

****Hey guys, sorry for the big break between chapters, but to make it up to you, this chapter is a fair bit longer than the ones before it. And you'll get to see a fair bit more of Sherlock as well.

Sorry for any mistakes, I don't have a beta reader, I just write it, read over it quickly, and then post.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Host975: <strong>Hey Lament. Sorry I'm late… again.

**Lament975: **It doesn't matter. You know I don't mind already. How was your day?

**Host975: **Eventful, though I know whether to say it was good or bad. What about you? How was your day?

**Lament975: **Interesting.

**Host975: **You say that every day. How do I know if it was actually interesting, or if you just say that about everything.

**Lament975: **I certainly don't say it about everything. Most things are dull.

**Lament975: **It was good.

**Host075**: Do I get to ask why, or would your answering go against the rules of this task?

**Lament975: **I had pleasantly surprising conversation with someone today. It made my day a little more interesting.

**Host975: **I'd ask who you talked to, but that would make it too easy to find out who you are. Well, easier at least. I don't know if anyone's figured out their partners yet. I haven't heard anything, and I usually do.

**Lament975: **I think we could do it, if we tried. But I don't really want to.

**Host975: **I agree. As curious as I am, it's a nice break to speak to somebody without actually knowing who each other are.

**Lament975: **I was thinking the same thing. It's much easier for us to be ourselves without the schools popularity contest urging us to act and speak a certain way.

**Host975: **I'm quite glad we share the same opinion here. Though we should make a deal, if one of us does figure out who the other person is, we should tell the other person we know who they are, even if we can't say who we are.

**Lament975: **So you'd want to know if I figured out who you were, and you would want to tell me if you figured out who I was?

**Host975: **Yep.

**Lament975: **Alright sounds fair enough.

**Host975: **I think I figured out how we got our screen names.

**Lament975: **You did? How?

**Host975: **It was an accident actually. You know the girl in the year bellow us that always walks around reading those fantasy novels?

**Lament975: **The one with the purple bag?

**Host975: **Yeah, well I saw her today and she was reading some book called Lament. By Maggie something or other, I can't remember her last name.

**Host975: **And didn't that woman who wrote those twilight books bring out a book called The Host?

**Host975: **If she didn't my idea is completely wrong.

**Lament975: **No she did. So our screen names are from young adult novels? That's interesting, I have been wondering.

**Lament975: **That was really very good, to make that connection.

**Host975: **Thanks. I felt pretty smart when I figured it out. Though I was surprised you hadn't already figured it out, you've read a lot more than me.

**Lament975: **I've read the one you're named after. But I didn't make the connection.

**Lament975: **At least that won't be bothering me anymore.

**Host975: **Glad I could be helpful. :)

**Host975: **Tomorrow's Saturday. The rules for the task don't say anything about weekends.

**Host975: **I asked a few people and they said they aren't coming back on till Monday…. What about us?

**Lament975: **I'm leaving in about half an hour to go away for the weekend. I won't be able to come online.

**Lament975: **…. I'll be back at around 8 on Sunday.

**Lament975: **…Will you be on?

**Host975: **At 8? Alright, I'll be on.

**Lament975: **Good. I have to go now… I need to pack some stuff.

**Host975: **Alright, have fun. I'll log on early on Sunday in case you get back sooner than expected.

**Lament975: **Hopefully. Goodnight.

_Your partner has gone offline._

That weekend felt like an entire week to John. He spent a lot of the next few days sitting down because of the pain in his leg, which had gotten worse since the Friday. Harry told him to go to the doctors on Saturday, but he just shot her a dirty look and limped upstairs, not wanting to talk to her for a few hours. He blamed his bad mood on how much his leg was hurting him, but he knew a lot of it was impatience. He just wanted to get online and talk to Lament again.

Saturday night Harry went out with Clara, and John had the house to himself. He laid on the lounge and watched some crappy movie that was playing. It was cheaply made and the actors were untalented, but it distracted him for a while and gave him something to do. He spent the rest of the night reading. He and Lament has agreed to read a book at the same time and then share opinions once they were both done. It wasn't the best book he'd ever read, but the plot and characters were good, so he could ignore that the writing style wasn't particularly impressive.

He spent Saturday morning and early afternoon cleaning the house, his leg making it a lot harder than it needed to be, but he could deal with it enough to keep the house looking presentable. Harry had made a bit of a mess, but at least she had left the house before John woke up. He thanked the universe for small mercies. His father called while he was in the shower and left a short message telling John he'd be away a bit longer than he expected, and that he didn't know when he'd be home but he'd call him back when he did.

Harry came home at ten past seven, slightly less drunk than usual, but still enough so that she stumbled over the doorstep, as she pulled her coat off, dropping it on the ground instead of hanging it up. John would normally get up and fix it for her but he was currently laying on the lounge, resting his leg before he had to head upstairs and talk to Lament. He would have sworn that the clock was going slower than usual, just going out of its way to annoy the hell out of him.

"Hey John, "Harry exclaimed happily, drawing out the 'n' in his name as she walked across the living room, only stumbling once before she dropped into the empty armchair. "What're you doing down here?"

John raised an eyebrow and shifted so he was sitting up a little more. "I'm lying down on the couch Harry. I'd have thought that would be obvious." His eyes flashed every few seconds to the clock on the wall, as though looking at it would pass the time so he'd finally have something interesting to do. Hanging around the house all weekend had been boring, but all his mates had gone out riding and wandering the streets, and he wouldn't have been able to do that with his leg in in the state that it was.

"I'm drunk not stupid John." She retorted, kicking her shoes off and pulling her feet up onto the cushion, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning against the arm to her left, sinking deep into the cushions. Probably a good idea, he thought, maybe she'd fall asleep there and he wouldn't have to look after her and try to get her to sober up for once.

"Yes well, your drunk often enough that I don't know if you're stupid or not."

She pretended to ignore him and pulled her phone from her pocket. "I meant, what're you doing down here at this time? Aren't you usually on your computer at this time?"

John rolled his eyes, but she had managed to keep her words from slurring too much, so he figured he'd give her an answer to make her happy. "The person I usually talk with went away for the weekend and won't be online until about eight. Otherwise I'd be on right now."

"That's what you're doing every night? Talking to somebody?"

"Yes." He replied, his brow furrowing. "What did you think I was doing."

"Looking at porn."

John coughed and felt his cheeks heat up. "You thought I was spending hours every night looking at porn? Really? Who even watches that much porn Harry? What the hell. "

She shrugged and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the armchair. "Well, you are a teenage boy, it was my first assumption. And seeing as you're never out drinking that seemed like the thing boys would do second most often. Who the hell is this person you're talking to for hours every night then?"

"Someone from school. It's for a project. We have to talk to somebody we don't know every day. We get along pretty well, read a lot of the same stuff, and we discuss our homework and stuff. It's fun."

"You talk for hours every day John. You should get out, be a normal teenager." She opened her eyes, which were bloodshot and tired looking and stared at him intently. "Go out with your friends and drink, make a mess and roam the streets causing trouble. That's what I did when I was your age." She looked at him down her nose, like he was weird, and she thought he was wrong for not doing these things.

He stood up, ignoring his protesting leg, and glared at her, angry that she would think herself better than him. "Yes, and look where it's got you." He growled angrily, limping away from the couch and towards the stairs. It was about 7:30 now. Lament wasn't due home for another half hour, but it was possible they'd get home early, and John didn't want to sit in the living room anymore.

Like he'd guessed he was the only person online when he turned on his laptop. But it was only 5 minutes of waiting before the little green box on the side flashed green to signal that his partner was online.

**Host975: **You're back early :)

**Lament975: **Yes, quite thankfully. Have you been waiting long?

**Host975: **No you have perfect timing; I've only been waiting about 5 minutes. How was your weekend away?

**Lament975: **As unpleasant as I expected. It was boring and irritating. I'm quite glad to be home.

**Host975: **You should have just stayed home in the first place.

**Lament975: **Yes, I did try that but my family was quite insistent that I join them.

**Host975: **That sucks.

**Lament975: **Yes it does. How was your weekend? Did I miss anything interesting?

**Host975: **Not really, I just cleaned and spent some time catching up on that book. How far into it are you?

**Lament975: **Oh I finished it this morning. When you're finished we can discuss it. Where are you up to?

**Host975: **uh, they just found the mutilated blonde girl.

**Lament975: **Oh you're almost finished. I expected you to take longer.

**Host975: **Meh, I was bored and didn't feel like cleaning anymore. Plus I hurt myself a bit, so I just wanted to sit down. Day time shows are crap.

**Lament975: **Anything serious?

**Host975: **Nah just a bit of bruising and a bit of an ache. Easily ignorable.

**Lament975: **Alright. Are you going to bed soon? You're tired, you always type slower when you're tired.

**Host975: ** Haha you know me too well. I am quite tired. Aren't you? It must have been a long weekend.

**Lament975: **No, I'm very much awake. Go to bed, we will talk tomorrow.

**Host975: **Alright, goodnight Lament.

**Lament975: **Goodnight.

When John slipped into his bed not five minutes later he felt more relaxed than he had all weekend.

* * *

><p>As much as John told himself he didn't want to know who his partner was, he found himself listening in on peoples conversations, wandering if he'd hear someone he knew talk about a weekend away with the family. He was unsurprisingly unsuccessful. The class before lunch a message went around for everyone in his last period class. Their teacher had to go home and they couldn't find a replacement, so they had the afternoon off.<p>

At the end of lunch he told Molly he'd walk her to class, promising to catch up with the others soon. They took their time, the teacher was always late so she didn't need to rush.

"Let me take your folder." He offered as he walked beside her, still limping because of his leg. It was still pretty painful, but walking around on it all day had got him used to it.

She blushed a little and shook her head, some of her hair which wasn't in her ponytail slipping into her face. "Oh no, it's fine I can carry it. Besides, you've hurt your leg. Shouldn't I be offering to carry your stuff for you?"

"Nonsense," He retorted with a playful smile, reaching out to take her folder from her despite her protests. "What kind of guy would I be if I let you carry my stuff." He adjusted the folder so it was sitting evenly with his own under his arm. He smiled as he noticed the book hanging slightly out of the end. He pulled it out and held it up. "Hey I'm reading this too!"

"Oh it's good isn't it?" She exclaimed excitedly. Molly always got overly happy when John was reading the same book as her. None of their other friends read all that much, so they never had anyone else to talk to about novels unless they read the same thing. Well, now John did have someone else. But he didn't say that.

"Yeah I'm really enjoying it. I'm not finished yet, but I reckon I know who did it. I won't say anything in case I spoil it." He slid it back into her folder and stopped out the front of her room. Most the class was already in and seated, and he realised how it must look to them, him walking her to class carrying her stuff for her. By tomorrow everyone would probably think they were dating. She seemed to be realising the same thing because she blushed and ducked her head, taking her folder gratefully from John.

"What happened to your hand?"

She held up the hand in question, it was wrapped in a bandage which John hadn't noticed at lunch. He felt kind of bad about that. But he was too caught up in trying to finish this novel before he got online tonight to talk to Lament.

"Oh, nothing. I slipped in the kitchen and landed on it wrong. It's a bit bruised and maybe sprained, nothing serious. I gotta go now. Thanks for walking me to class." She shot him a friendly smile and hurried into class just as the teacher was walking up the hall. John gave him an awkward smile and walked down the hall, his bag hanging from one shoulder as he walked at his own pace. It was nice to go slow, keeping up with everyone today really had been putting a lot of strain on his leg.

He was walking the long way to meet up with Greg and everyone else, caught in his own little world as he walked through the silent corridors. The rest of the school was in classes, he could hear the teachers talking from behind closed door but he paid no attention to them. He could have left and gone home already, but he didn't feel up to it. He had to be one of the only people he knew who preferred being at school than home. Plus he was putting off the walk home that he knew was going to be painful.

He was walking through the arts section of the school when he was drawn out of his thought by the sound of music coming from one of the nearby rooms. He recognised it as violin immediately, it was easy to pick. The music was beautiful, it was slow and emotional, yet somehow filled with a hidden passion. It felt like the soft music was a cage around what truly wanted to come out, like the truly loud and passionate music was fighting to burst free and take over, but the violinist wouldn't let it.

He limped down the hall towards the open door. The rest of the classrooms seemed to be empty, which surprised John, but then he remembered there was some art thing on all this week and realised that's where they must all be. He approached the open door slowly, not looking in until he was standing in the door way.

All the chairs and tables in the room were pushed against the walls, leaving an open space in the middle. The curtains were drawn, meaning the only light source in the room was the bulb on the roof, leaving the outer edges and corners of the room in a kind of darkness, while the centre of the room was well lit. Much like a spotlight. Standing in that circle of light, John was surprised the see Sherlock Holmes, his back to the door as he played, his head lowered over his instrument.

He turned slightly, so John could see the side of his face. His eyes were closed and a range of emotions played on his face. The music got louder for a second, moving faster like he was going to let loose, and John found himself leaning forward, anticipation building inside him, waiting for him to release music, but he forced the swell back down, continuing with the slow song he was playing.

It was beautiful. John hadn't heard many people play the violin, but he knew it was difficult and it took talent to sound good. Sherlock was amazing. His hands never faltered, the music never caught as he tried to remember a note, he just played it through. Sometimes the music melded into something else, like he was playing more than one song at once, but it worked, and John stayed where he was standing, listening intently to the music.

It wasn't until the music slowed and then stopped that John realised how weird it was that he'd stood there and watched without Sherlock knowing. The taller teen stood for a moment, his eyes closed still holding the violin, and John took a small step backwards, ready to leave without Sherlock knowing he'd been watched against his will, but the moment his foot hit the ground Sherlock's eyes shot open and he turned his gaze on John, his expression kind of hard. When he saw who it was surprise flickered onto his face and he slowly lowered his hands to his side, holding the violin loosely at his side, his expression shifting to one that seemed a little like embarrassment.

"I uh…. I'm sorry." John stuttered out. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"How long were you standing there?" Sherlock asked quietly, tugging on the bottom of his well-fitting jacket to straighten it.

John used his spare hand to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit. He realised he was doing it and dropped his hand self-consciously. Sherlock's eyes, looking very blue today followed the movement before flashing back up to his face. "Um, I don't know. A few minutes I think. Just before you turned away from the opposite wall."

"I see." Was all he said.

"You're really good." John said awkwardly, leaning against the door frame to take some pressure of his leg, which he'd been ignoring while he listened, but now was killing him from standing on it for so long. "Like really good. That was… amazing."

Sherlock seemed a bit confused by the compliment, like he wasn't expecting it, and cleared his throat quietly. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

"What were you playing? It was beautiful."

The look Sherlock gave him was one of both doubt and interested. He seemed genuinely surprised that John was asking these questions, and it was obvious a part of him wandered if he truly wanted to know. John got the impression he wasn't very often complimented, and for some reason he felt a bit sad at that thought.

"It wasn't anything, just something I've been working on. It's unfinished."

"Wait. Are you saying you wrote that?"

"Yes. Well, I'm writing it as I go. As I said, it's unfinished, it doesn't sound right yet."

John laughed and smiled widely. "That's bloody brilliant Sherlock."

He plucked slowly at the strings of the violin, giving himself something to do with his hands. "It's not that impressive. I can't get it to sound right yet, it's just not working the way I want it to."

"That's because you're not letting it." John said before he could stop himself. He blushed but didn't look away. He wasn't an expert on music, but even he could see that it was Sherlock that wasn't letting it work.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking a step closer, his fingers no longer plucking uselessly at the strings, but still resiting on them.

"Well uh… I don't know but from listening to that I think you're holding back." He shrugged his shoulders and let his bag slid down his arm, grabbing the strap to lower it to the ground. "I mean, it was like the music wanted to go one way, but you were trying to keep it in control. It kept trying break free and play itself, but you were holding back."

They stared at each other for a moment, Sherlock eyeing him like he was the most interesting thing he'd seen in years, and John trying not to the squirm under his keen gaze. "Perhaps you're right." Sherlock murmured, though it was quiet enough in the room that John heard him clearly.

"John!"

Annoyance flashed through Sherlock's eyes at the sound of the voice calling John's name from a bit down the hall, and he took a step back as John turned to see Sally, Greg and Anderson walking towards him. He glanced back at Sherlock and then stepped away from the door.

"Where've you been? We've been looking for you for ages." Greg said, clapping him on the shoulder as they reached him. "What're you doing mate? You should have got back like fifteen minutes ago."

Had it really been that long? He bent down and grabbed his bag, ready to move away and leave the music room, but Sally was already stepping inside, her gaze on Sherlock. "Were you talking with the freak John?" She sneered at him and shook her head. "Why waste your time?"

John sighed and held his bag in his hand. "Guys come on, just leave him be."

Greg gave him a curious look but said nothing as Anderson stepped into the room after Sally. "What've you got there Holmes?" He asked, pointing at his violin.

Sherlock looked down his nose at Anderson like he was annoying bug on the bottom of his shoe. John felt that look was very much deserved. "It's very clearly a violin Anderson. You should just not speak, every time you open your mouth you lower the IQ of everybody in the room."

"Shut it you snobby prick. I bloody well know what it is."

"Then why ask stupid questions."

"Don't push it Holmes, you know how this is going to end. It happens often enough."

John dropped his bag and walked in, Greg following after him, until they were all in the open space that was the centre of the classroom. John was suddenly feeling very annoyed at Anderson, why did he need to do this? Could they just leave Sherlock alone, it wasn't like he was hurting anybody by staying alone and playing his beautiful music. "Seriously, how often do you guys do this?" He turned to Sherlock. "How often do they do this to you Sherlock?"

Sally shoved him from his left a little, surprising him. "What, are you two on first name basis now John? Getting all friendly with the freak now?"

John flushed resisted the urge to shove her back. "Shut up Sally." He snapped. "This is out of hand. Is this like a weekly game for you or something? Torment and beat up Sherlock because he's different?"

She smirked happily and shrugged. "Yeah pretty much."

"How did I not notice this?" John asked incredulously. "I don't even care. Let's just go. Now. I don't want to stand here and watch you do this again."

Sherlock was standing silent, watching all of this happening, a look John couldn't place on his face as he looked at John. He was still holding his violin by his side, his other hand was clenched in a fist at his side betraying the calm act he was putting on.

"You can go John." Anderson said. "Run off if you'd like, no one's forcing you to stay and watch." He stepped around John and snatched at Sherlock's violin, but Sherlock saw it coming and skipped back a step, pulling it out of his reach, an angry glare sliding onto his face. "Give it to me freak, or I'll hurt you more than I did last week."

"Back off Anderson." John said, trying to sound as threatening as he could. He was surprised to find he wasn't shaking like he would have expected, his pulse was a little fast, but he was calm, completely focused on the situation. He shot a glance at Greg. "You too Greg, leave him be."

Greg held up his hands, not wanting to start something with John. "Hey I'm not even usually a big part of this."

"Why are you suddenly so defensive of the freak John? You got a thing for him or something?" John ignored Sally and shifted his weight off his sore leg. Anderson stepped forward and shoved Sherlock, distracting him enough to pull the instrument from his hand.

"I said back off Anderson!" John said stepping forward.

"Give back my violin." Sherlock demanded, stepping forward his eyes locked on his instrument. "It's worth more than you can afford to replace."

The tension in the room was high, Sally was standing by Anderson, and John was now facing Anderson a firm glare set in place. Greg was between the two, and John didn't know who's side he would take if he came down to it. Sherlock just looked concerned for the violin.

"Piss off John. If you wanna be friends with the freak that's your problem, not mine."

In a flash John had shoved him backwards, using more force than Anderson would have expected. He stepped forward and followed and he stumbled backwards, grabbing the front of his shirt and forcing him back another step. John was smaller than him, but he could see in Anderson's eyes that he hadn't actually expected John to do anything, and he didn't know how to react.

Sherlock stepped up beside him and snatched the instrument out of his hand with a glare, quickly examining it for damage. Satisfied there was nothing wrong with it he moved and sat it in the open case. John let go of Anderson's shirt, taking a step back and turning his attention to Sherlock. He didn't see the punch coming. Just felt Anderson's fist connect with his jaw.

His head spun for a moment and he staggered back a step on his sore leg. He blinked and turned his eyes on Anderson who was watching him with a smug air about him. He felt the side of his mouth with his tongue. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek and blood was now leaking from the wound into his mouth. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and felt his fingers tighten into fists.

The next few minutes was a blur of shoving and punching, each of the teens yelling curses at each other as they threw punches at each other. Greg tried to pry the two apart and failed, and Sally threw a few shoves and hits at him from the side but he ignored her, intent on doing some damage to Anderson. He could feel a trickle of blood running from nose, but after a well-aimed punch Anderson's own nose was in a much worse state than his own.

They pushed each other around a bit, slamming into desks and knocking a few over, all the while aiming shots at each others ribs, stomachs and faces, as well as anywhere else they could reach. Sally grabbed him from behind, pulling back and giving Anderson a chance to get a few hits in on him. But in a flash Sherlock appeared in front of John, pushing Anderson back and away.

Anderson pleased with his new target tried to throw a few punches but Sherlock dodged all of them, moving out of the way easily, as if he knew what Anderson was going to do. He jabbed in at his stomach once, twice, three times, dodged a wide swing at his head and stepped back when Anderson came at him. He stepped forward again, probably to hit him again, but seeing this Greg grabbed his arms and held them behind his back, stopping him from fighting back.

John struggled to get Sally's arm from around his neck as Sherlock struggled to get free of Greg. John could faintly recognise Greg telling Anderson to leave Sherlock as he approached, but he didn't listen and this time he didn't swing for Sherlock's stomach. He hit him in the face. 3 times in a row before John got free and came at him again.

He cried out as sharp hot pain shot up his right side, making him forget about the fight as he clutched at the leg. He realised a moment later that Anderson had kicked his bad leg out from under him, and he was now on one knee on the ground. The intensity of the pain brought tears to his eyes, but he fought them back as he clenched his teeth.

Greg swore and let go of Sherlock, who moved quicker than John expected. He shot forward and punched Anderson in the nose once, shocking him enough that he could push him backwards against the nearest wall, where there was no desks stacked, and pressed his forearm tightly against his throat, holding him in place.

There was a few seconds where no one spoke and John spat out another mouthful of blood, some of it coming from his nose, which almost made him gag a little. Sherlock kept his arm at Anderson's throat, pressing hard enough that he wouldn't struggle. His nose was pouring blood and so was a cut above his eyebrow. He had a few bruises developing. John imagined he was in quite a similar state.

Greg was standing between them, breathing heavy. The was a small cut on his cheek, so obviously one of them had hit him in the struggle.

"What the fuck?" He exclaimed loudly, his hands thrown into the air and then dropped back at his side again. "You two are supposed to be friends. Friends don't beat the crap out of each other."

John stared at Greg for a moment, not even sure if he was serious or not. "He punched me in the fucking face!" He yelled angrily. "While I wasn't looking Greg, he's a prick who likes to pick fights with people he thinks won't fight back." He spat again, more blood. He felt around his mouth again. Split lip. "He's no fucking friend of mine."

"Good, be alone for the rest of the year then. See if I care. You're not sitting with us anymore. If you want to be friends with this freak then I'll treat you the bloody same." John noticed the way Sherlock's arm pressed harder against his throat, effectively shutting him up.

"John's right you know, you did deserve it." Greg said as he grabbed his and Anderson's bag from the floor, pulling them onto his shoulders, one on each side.

Sally shook her head at John and picked up her own bag. "Welcome to the bottom of the food chain John. I hope you enjoy it."

"Let him go." Greg ordered Sherlock, though it wasn't spoken like a threat. "It's over, let him go."

Sherlock ignored him but pressed harder, causing Anderson to choke, unable to get air without struggling. He glared at the bloodied teen, fury in his eyes, but he soon let him go, stepping back and straightening his clothes. Thankfully Anderson was smart enough to not start anything else, and the three of them left without any more issues.

With a sigh of relief John dropped down off his knee and stretched out his sore leg, wincing and biting back a groan of pain. "Fucking assholes," He growled, holding his leg with one hand while the other wiped at his face, making a useless attempt to get rid of some of the blood.

"Are you alright?" He called to Sherlock who was standing near the wall, his eyes on the ground his hands hanging at his sides. "He got a couple hard shots in on you."

"I've had worse" He brushed off Johns concern, walking across the room his hand dipping into his pocket to pull out a small, closed packet of tissues, which he handed to John when he reached him. "You fought pretty well. He wasn't expecting you too. Judging by the look on his face when you actually hit back he was quite afraid when he realised you weren't going to just take it."

John pulled out a tissue and held it to his nose, letting it soak up the blood that had leaking out, quickly adding another to catch the blood that was still running. Though it seemed to bleeding slower than before. "Yeah well he deserved every bloody hit. But I feel like he got me more than I got him." He pulled the tissues back to see they were soaked red and pulled out another to replace them.

"That's not the case." Sherlock sat on the floor in front of him and touched the bruising spot around left eye, hissing as he pressed against the tender flesh. There was a small cut over the bruise but it wasn't bleeding. His lip was also split on the same side, but he'd mostly escaped any other damage. "You were winning that fight, that's why Donovan tried to intervene. Though I imagine you were too distracted to notice the details."

"I was winning?"

"Yes."

John laughed, ignoring the pain in his chest when he did. "Good, he's a dick and he deserved it."

Sherlock was eyeing him curiously, like he was some sort of experiment to be observed and studied. There was a it of blood coming from his split lip but he didn't seem to noticed until a few ruby drops rolled down his lip and fell onto his chin. He wiped them away with his right hand, eyes still on John. "That… what you did… I mean…" He sighed in frustration. "It was good of you." He finished lamely.

"People don't stand up for you very often do they Sherlock?" John asked gently, and this time it was his turn to study the taller teens face. Both times they had spoken had seemed shocked by Johns kindness, so he couldn't help but wonder, what had he gone through his whole life without to be surprised by somebody else being kind. Was he picked on as bad as now since he started school? Probably. Had he been dealing with it alone this entire time?

Their eyes locked for a moment, and for that split second John saw all the vulnerability in those eyes, and then Sherlock had schooled expression and leaned back. "I… it's completely irrelevant." He said, taking the tissue packet from John's hand. He pulled one out and held it in the direction of john's face. "May I?"

John thought it may be a little weird, to let another guy clean up his face after a fight, but he couldn't see what he was doing, and he was sure he must have a fair bit of blood still left on his face. He could feel multiple cuts, a small one next to his eyes, one on his cheek, slightly larger, his nose had bled a fair bit, but not broken he could feel that, split lip. He nodded and Sherlock leaned forward and stared wiping the blood from beside his eye.

"How bad is it?" He asked.

"The cuts will take a few days to heal, theres a few of them, the one of your cheek is quite large, but I believe that actually happened when you both tumbled over the desks," His lips twitched minutely and John smiled, though it hurt his lips. "Or rather when you tacked him over the tables. There's a small amount of bruising around your eyes from the bunch to the nose, but nothing to noticeable. The cheek will bruise more. Your lip will swell a little, but if you put some ice on it tonight then it should be reduced a fair bit."

John of course already knew everything Sherlock was saying, and he got the feeling Sherlock knew it too. He'd just wanted to know how bad it looked, but he let him keep speaking, it filled the break in conversation and gave him a chance to take in the rest of the damage. He could feel a fair bit of bruising on his ribs, and it hurt a little to breath. His stomach was sore and he didn't even want to think about the pain in his leg. It was already going to take a while to heal. He didn't want to think about damage he knew Anderson could have done by kicking it like that. Probably nothing permanent, but it would be causing him problems for a while.

Sherlock finished clearing the blood and stood up. "How do you usually get home? Do you drive or is someone coming to get you?" He held out his hand and John grasped it firmly, allowing the taller teen to help him slowly do his feet. He didn't let go of his hand immediately, his other hand resting on John's shoulder to steady him and he gritted his teeth and shifted his weight on his leg. God it hurt. He knew he'd have to find a way to get Anderson back for this. He may have done more damage in the fight, but that kick was causing the most pain. "Are you alright?"

John exhaled and let go of his hand, putting some weight onto his leg. It hurt much more than he expected, and he had to bite his lip to stop any pained noises escaping him, but he could put weight on it, which meant he could walk. Good, because Harry would be too drunk to come and pick him up, and he didn't want to waste money on a cab. "I'm alright." He assured him, and he let his hand drop from his shoulder. "I usually walk."

"Well you can't walk home like that, even if your leg wasn't hurt you couldn't walk home in that state, you're covered in blood."

"I'll be fine. I don't really have choice do I."

"I'll give you a ride." Sherlock offered, picking up both of their bags. He pulled the strap of his own bag over his shoulder, and John noticed the way he tried to hide a wince. So his bruises from last week were still being a pain. John held out his hand for his backpack but Sherlock waved him off, hanging it from his spare shoulder.

"Do you drive?" He asked curiously. Before Sherlock could stop him he moved and carefully closed the violin case and picked it up. If he was going to take Johns heavy bag the least he could do was carry the violin for him.

They walked out of the room slowly, Sherlock sticking to john's pace, which he appreciated. "Yes I do, but I won't be driving. I have a driver pick me up. I don't trust driving a car here and leaving it all day with all of these morons." He said the last part bitterly, but John thought it better not to comment on that.

"Do you mean your parents pick you up, or do you actually mean a driver?"

"I mean a driver." He shrugged like it was normal for every kid to have their own driver. "He's employed to take me wherever I wish to go. So going by your house will be no problem." He looked sideways at John.

"Wow, you must have a bit of money if you have your own driver."

He shrugged and slid his hands into his pocket. "My mother is quite well off his, and my older brother is quite quickly moving up the ladder in the British government, so he's already earning quite a large sum of money. More than most his age earn, but he finished University in less than half the time it takes everybody else." He frowned and stopped talking. "I'd really be quite fine without the driver, I quite like catching a cab actually."

"Bit of a waste of money though isn't it, catching a cab if you don't have to."

Sherlock just shrugged again and pushed open the door for John as they left the building. Most of the students had left now, so there was only a few people milling about as they chatted with friends before they left or waited to be picked up. A few people whispered as they saw the cuts and bruises on johns face, not to mention the small amount of blood he'd managed to get on his shirt. He rolled his eyes. "Most the schools going to know about this by tomorrow."

"Do you care what they think?" Sherlock asked curiously, and John squirmed under his intense gaze. Was there really any good way to answer that? He'd be obviously lying if he said, but if he said yes he did he'd feel outright rude, Sherlock was the one who was getting all the bad bullying after all.

"Well…yes I do. I mean, Now that I'm not hanging with Greg, Sally and Anderson… I have to be more careful about what people think off me."

"Or you end up like me." Sherlock said, finishing his unspoken thoughts.

John gave him an apologetic look as they approached a fancy looking black car with very tinted windows. "I don't mean it like that… I mean…"

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. "No it's quite alright." He opened the door to the back seat and slipped in the car, John followed him in and closed the door behind him.

The driver glanced over the seat and John and then looked at Sherlock. "Where to?"

John told the man his address and then they pulled away from the curb, the car running smooth and quietly, some kind of classical music playing quietly over the radio. "Thanks for the ride Sherlock." John said with a small smile, setting the violin case on the seat between them. "I'm quite glad I didn't have to walk on this bloody leg."

Sherlock smiled slightly and looked away from the window to glance at john. "Think nothing of it."

They rode in silence after that, and John was very surprised to find that, despite the fact he barely knew Sherlock Holmes at all, he really didn't mind that at all.

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><p>Alright, so what did you think? They are a little OOC, but it's an AU and they are younger, so who cares.<p>

Reviews are greatly apreciate, what did you like? What didn't you like?

I'm always open to suggestions.

Thanks for reading guys, I'll try and get the next one up sooner this time.


	4. Out With The Old

Hey, Im really sorry it's taken so long! But I moved out of home recently, and I have no internet, but to make up for it this chapter is quite long. There is probably a lot of spelling mistakes, but I just wanted to get it posted, so oh well.

Please review, I do love them and they encourage me to write more :D

Enjoy

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><p>John shifted uncomfortably as they pulled up outside his house. It wasn't that his house was really run down or small and embarrassing or anything, but it did need a few repairs, and the paint needed a touch up too. Normally he wouldn't mind so much, but Sherlock had his own driver, so John figured he probably came from a rich family and a big home.<p>

"Well uh… thanks." He murmured, glancing at Sherlock as he grabbed his bag off the floor of the car and opened the door to the car. He glanced at the front of the car. "Thank you." He added to the driver who glanced at him in the rear view mirror and nodded gratefully. "Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then." He said uncertainly. Was it weird to speak like they would talk tomorrow? Chances are they wouldn't, this didn't really make them friends, but he had defended Sherlock and even gotten in a fight for him, and Sherlock had given him a ride home. So it seemed more ruder to not say it.

He slid out of the car slowly, wincing at the pain which was starting to sink in completely now that the adrenaline was starting to disappear. He heard the opposite car door open, and turned to see Sherlock slide out and stand up, glancing at him over the top of the car roof. John raised his eyebrows questioningly, not knowing what to say.

"You need a bit of medical attention and I doubt you are going to walk to the nearest doctors surgery, which is a 15 minute walk from here when you're not injured." He looked down at something John couldn't see, but he could hear the familiar sound of phone keys being tapped. "I'll help you get cleaned up and check for anything serious. Also I thought I might get some ice." His hand flickered up to his face and his expression turned to one of disdain. "For my eye."

John looked up at his front door anxiously for a moment. Was Harry home? If she was she'd be drunk, like she was every day, he didn't want to bring Sherlock, a virtual stranger into his house if she was mucking about like a bloody fool. He didn't want the embarrassment, for himself or for her, though he was very aware that she bloody well deserved it. But he also couldn't deny the fact that it was probably a good idea to let Sherlock help him.

"Yeah… yeah alright," He finally agreed, and waited as Sherlock nodded and leant down, speaking to the driver before walking around the car to meet him.

"Do you need any help?"

"No I should be right."

"Okay."

There was music playing when John unlocked the door, but thankfully it wasn't too loud. He slid off his shoes at the door and dropped his bag and lead Sherlock into the kitchen. He silently thanked the universe that he had cleaned yesterday, and told Sherlock to sit on one of the stools at the bench and said he'd be right back.

He found Harry upstairs in her room, half undressed and throwing a ball at the wall. "Stop it you idiot." He hissed, pulling the door closed and turning down her radio, which seemed a fair bit louder up here. "I have someone downstairs and I don't need you making me look like a bloody idiot. Drink some water and sober up will you."

She frowned and looked over his him, struggling to focus. "You've got blood on your face John. What happened."

"Nothing Harry, don't worry about it."

"Did you get in a fight?"

"No… yes, but I didn't start it."

"Tell me what happened."

"No, it's none of your business and I don't wanna talk about it."

"Tell me!"

He waved his hand at her and walked out the door, hearing something hit it just as it closed behind him. Sherlock was waiting patiently in the kitchen when John managed to get himself back down the stairs, his eyes scanning the room, taking everything in. John felt a little exposed but tried not to show it as he put the first aid kit of the bench and sat carefully on one of the stools, biting his lip at the pain in his leg. The rest of him hurt too, but it was overshadowed by his leg.

Sherlock opened the kit and pulled everything out, sitting it all on the bench in some kind of order. He took a small cloth and wet it in the sink.

"I appreciate this." John said while his back was turned.

The curly haired teen gave him an odd look as he walked back across the room to him. "You got in a fight defending me, but you're saying thank you because I'm going to help you clean up the blood?" He raised an eyebrow, as though it somehow proved his point even more, and pressed the cloth against John's head. It was warm, so he'd obviously heated up the water before wetting the cloth. John was glad for that, it was quite cold out today.

"Still, I mean… if you were as much of a dick as everyone seems to believe you are you wouldn't be helping me." He flushed a little realising that might sound rude and looked away. "I didn't mean that to be rude, sorry."

"I perfectly understood what you mean John." He replied, wiping the blood away from his eye. "You've stopped bleeding, but if you're not careful they will start again." He cleaned the cut on John's lip, and they both avoided eye contact while that as happening. When all the blood was gone from his face Sherlock pulled out the disinfectant and John glared at it. He hated that stuff, it stung when you put it on and it smelt weird.

"That's not really necessary, I don't need it."

Sherlock simply gave him a look that said 'Stop being a child', and dapped some of the disinfectant onto a small cloth from the little box. The stinging liquid was promptly placed onto his cuts, and he even managed not to wince at the annoying sting. When he was done he slid slowly off the chair and grabbed the mess, dropping it in the bin on the way to the freezer. He grabbed a few ice cubes and wrapped them in a small plastic bag and then in paper towel and handed it to Sherlock.

"Thankyou," He said quietly, holding to his eye which was already very bruised and looking more than a bit painful. If it hurt to hold the ice there he didn't show it. "How is your leg?"

"Pretty painful… Anderson probably did a lot more damage by kicking it… I'll probably have to see a doctor soon or-"John's sentence was cut off by a loud crash upstairs. He felt his cheeks heat up as they both looked up the ceiling, the music that had been playing before getting louder. There was another crash, followed a few seconds later by a loud bang.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, then turned his eyes on Sherlock who was staring at him instead of the roof now. "I'm sorry, my sister is in a bad mood, and she loves to be dramatic. She's a bit not normal." He gave him a false smile and glanced up at the roof again. "Did you want me to disinfect that cut at your eye?"

Sherlock studied him for a couple of seconds, like he was deciding if he could trust John enough to do it. John waited patiently, considering the way everybody seemed to treat Sherlock it was understandable that he would be a bit mistrusting. "Yes, that would be good." He finally agreed in that quiet murmur of his, and sat on the stool so he wouldn't be so much taller than John.

John gave him a small smile and got out another small piece of cloth and soaked it in the disinfectant, turning it from clean white to a weird yellowy colour. He stepped in front of Sherlock and the taller teen moved ice from his eye. It was a bit swollen, and there was some pretty obvious bruising, but John was pretty sure if he kept ice on it, then it shouldn't be too bad the next day at school. Not that anybody would be bothered if Sherlock Holmes came to school with a black eye. They'd probably try and find the person who did it to congratulate them.

He held up the cloth and very gently dabbed at the cut beside his eye, it hadn't bled as much as John thought it had, it wasn't very deep, but there was still a little trail of blood going down his cheek. He made sure the cut was clean before he wiped off the blood from his cheek. "Ah… want me to get the cut on your lip too?" He asked, trying not to make it awkward. Sherlock just nodded and he quickly went about wiping away the blood and making sure it was clean. When he was done he stepped back, creating a bit more space between them and dropped the cloth onto the bench.

"There's something I don't understand." John said as he moved slowly across the kitchen to turn the kettle one. He really wanted a cup of tea. He turned and leaned against the bench, looking at Sherlock across the kitchen. "I mean, from what I saw today, you know how to fight. He dodged every punch Anderson threw at you, and you got hits in on him too. If Greg hadn't tried to stop you from fighting he probably wouldn't have got you in the face at all. So if you can fight like that, why don't you ever defend yourself when they come after you?"

Sherlock fidgeted with the scarf around his neck before he spoke, loosening and the retightening it carefully. "It's a little complicated. It does sound easier, to just defend myself and scare them away because they know I can fight back, but it doesn't really work that way." He wasn't looking at John while he spoke, he was embarrassed about being bullied, and embarrassed about having to stand there and let them beat him up even though he knew he was capable of fighting back. "I'm not going to go into the details as to why its easier to just let them do it, it's boring and tedious, but I know from experience, it causes me less problems if I let them get it out of their systems every couple of days."

His attitude towards it made John angry, a little at him, but mostly towards Anderson and his stupid mates who all thought it was okay to eat up people who weren't as popular as them. "You don't deserve to be bullied Sherlock, and you shouldn't have to take them beating you up because it's easier that way. That's just…." He ran a hand through his short hair as he searched for a word that even fit in his sentence. "It's just idiotic."

The kettle started boiling behind him, and he turned to flick it off. "I can't believe they were doing this so often and I didn't even notice." He shook his head and turned back to face Sherlock, whose blue eyes were on him. "To be honest I don't think I wanted to notice. But… I'm sorry, I really am… and I'm especially sorry for not stopping them that first day I was there… I feel like a complete dick."

Sherlock began to speak but John didn't get to hear what he was going to say because he was cut off by Harry coming into the kitchen, her eyes moving immediately to Sherlock. Her hair was damp was done and she was dressed in a skirt so short it barely covered everything it needed too, a pair of boots that just screamed 'fuck me', and a shirt that showed off her chest. She gave Sherlock a flirty smile after clearly deciding that he was attractive, and looked over at John. "Who's this John?" She asked, and he was glad to hear that she didn't sound drunk. She was probably only a little tipsy.

"Sherlock Holmes." He introduced himself, eyes taking in her appearance once before looking back her face, his expression rather blank. "You must be John's sister. Pleasure to meet you."

"Sherlock Harry, Harry Sherlock." John introduced with a wave of his hand, eyes on his sister. "Sherlock's is a friend from school." He added, and he nearly missed the way Sherlock's eyes darted to him for a second before looking away.

"Oh how exciting, you hardly ever bring home friends from school. I was beginning to think the ones you talked about were made up and that you actually had none." She smiled when she teased him, but John knew that she was bothered he never bought friends over, she didn't like him being ashamed of her, though he'd told her before if she'd just sober up he wouldn't be so embarrassed to bring people over.

"You've met Greg and Molly." He said dismissively, "And anyway, anyone else I was friends with aren't really worth mentioning now anyway." He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and glanced back at Sherlock. "Do you want some tea or coffee?"

"Coffee please, black, two sugars."

He got down an extra mug and started making their drinks.

"What do you mean John?" Harry asked, "About your friends not being worth mentioning?"

"I meant exactly what I said," He replied simply as he poured the hot water into the mugs. He finished them up and picked them up, walking over to put Sherlock's in front of him. He gave John a small smile and picked it up. "They aren't worth mentioning, and I don't really think I'd consider them friends either."

"Has this got to do with all the bruises and cuts and bruises on your face?" So she was more sober than John thought, she wouldn't have put so much effort into finding out if she was drunk. Her eyes darted to Sherlock's face. "And his black eye and split lip?"

"I guess you could say that." He sipped his tea, which was very hot, and sat on the stool he'd been on before. His leg was throbbing and he had to breathe slowly through his nose to keep himself from showing just how much pain he was in. Harry knew his leg had been hurt, but it was so much more painful now, and she didn't need to know that. "I got in a fight with Anderson." Harry hadn't met him, but John had mentioned him enough that he knew Harry would know who he was talking about.

"Why? I thought you two were friends?"

"Yes well that was before I found he was beating people up for fun while I wasn't around." He said, his anger very clear in his voice, he glanced sideways at Sherlock, who was looking at his coffee. When he looked back at Harry he knew his glance at Sherlock had told her it was him being beaten up. "When I told him to stop it today he punched me in the face." He shrugged. "And then we quite clearly got in a fight."

"Good." She said, walking across the kitchen to take her phone of the charger. "I'm proud, you did the right thing John. I hope you got him better than he got you."

Sherlock chuckled quietly. "He did. He tackled him over some tables."

Harry laughed and patted John on the back as she came back past and he did his best not to wince. "Are you going out?"

"Yes, with Clara, I probably won't be home tonight." She slid her phone into her bra and adjusted herself, not ashamed to be practically grabbing her own boobs in front of John and Sherlock. Though John was surprised to see Sherlock simply look back down at his coffee when she started doing this. Probably a good thing considering the suspicious look Harry gave him when he did, but when he looked back up she turned attention to John. "I ate the chicken you left out for dinner, there was nothing else to have for lunch."

John closed his eyes for a second, convincing himself not to yell at her while he had someone over. "Alright." He replied, "No problem, I'll find something else. I think there's some chips in the freezer."

A horn sounded from the front of the house. "That's my ride, see you tomorrow sometime John, bye Sherlock." She jogged out of the room and John took a long sip of his hot tea, the burn of it going down his throat distracting him from his anger.

"Were you with someone more normal than myself your attempts to hide your anger might be a little more effective, but seeing as you're with me it might benefit you not to stress yourself more by trying to hide it."

John chuckled but there wasn't much humour behind it. He swallowed another mouthful of tea and put his cup down beside him. "Sorry… I forgot that you notice these things."

Sherlock shrugged and sipped at his coffee. "You don't like your sister very much." He commented. "She knows it and doesn't like it. She wants you to be friendly with her again, but I don't think that will happen until she stops partying and officially gets back with her girlfriend will it?"

John raised his eyebrows and smiled a little, his anger dissipating a little. 'I'm surprised you picked up on that, what with all the flirtatious smiles she was giving you, not to mention that she practically felt herself up in front of you. I think most people would have taken that for being straight, and interested in getting you into bed."

His lips twitched into a small smile and he lifted his coffee to his lips pausing to say, "She thought I looked gay and wanted to see if I would react to her flirting," before taking a sip, his smile a little wider now. "Of course she wasn't aware that I knew exactly what she was doing and could choose exactly what I wanted her to think."

John snorted. "So you chose not to react and let her continue thinking you're gay? I was wondering about the look she gave you when looked at your coffee instead of her chest. I guess that explains it."

He shrugged. "It was easier for me to let her continue thinking what she wanted to, it wasn't worth the effort of pretending I was interested in her."

John considered his statement and tried not to make his curiosity too obvious. "Is ah… is she right?" He asked, picking up his mug. He wanted hit himself for such a poor attempt at being subtle.

Sherlock put down his mug and eyed him carefully. "Would it matter if she was?"

"No, no of course not, I have a gay sister, its fine, if you like guys I mean."

"I know it is fine," His eyes, looking very blue in this light, didn't leave John's face.

"Alright… good," He said awkwardly. "So, she was right then?"

"Oh, I never said she was right, but I was curious to know if it would matter if she was."

John was aware that Sherlock was neither agreeing or denying with Harry's assumption, and thought he was probably doing it on purpose. He wouldn't be surprised, he'd had hardly any conversations with the other teen, but it seemed like he was someone who tried keep his control over every situation, and without people knowing it most the time. "Fair enough, I hope I passed the test then."

"Yes, I would say so." He answered, finishing his coffee in one go. He slid from his stool and picked up John's empty mug and went to rinse them in the sink.

"You didn't need to do that, it's my house, it's sort of my job to clean up."

"Doesn't matter, plus your leg is hurting you quite a bit, best to keep off it as much as you can. Did you check for swelling?"

"No I didn't, to be honest I've been avoiding checking it." He knew that he'd have to feel around properly, to check for everything, dislocation, torn or pulled muscles, fractures, basically anything.

Sherlock put his bag onto the counter and pulled out a small a small box and tossed it to John. "Here, it's probably stronger than anything you keep in the house with your party loving sister around." John picked up the box and read what is was. It was a box of pain killers, but not the crappy kind that hardly worked, this was a much stronger brand. Sherlock was right, he didn't keep any strong medication in the house, if Harry came home drunk and took something it could end up very bad for her.

"Thanks." He said great fully, opening the box to pop out two of the small pills. Sherlock handed him a glass of water, though John hadn't told him where to find the glasses. He swallowed the pills with a gulp of water and tried to hand the box back to Sherlock.

"Keep them, I have more at home, and you'll probably need them."

"You sure?"

"Yes, it's fine."

"Thanks."

He looked at the bag on the bench, which was full of water, now that the ice had melted. "do you want some more ice for your eye?"

"I'll get it." Sherlock said, tossing the old bag out and moving to the freezer to get some more ice. He hesitated before he closed it, and then dropped the ice into a bag.

"You lied to your sister." He said, as casual as if he was talking about the weather.

"What do you mean?" John asked, frowning at Sherlock who wasn't looking at him, his eyes on his bag of ice as he wrapped it in a bit of paper towel.

"You lied to her, you told her there was chips in the freezer." He looked up at John, frowning slightly. "Although considering that she knew there was no food for lunch she probably knew you were lying to her about that."

"Yeah that's just how we work, I lie to make her feel better and she pretends she doesn't know I'm lying, it's a good system." Sherlock was still watching him. "It doesn't matter, just forget it."

"If you'd like." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the keys for a bit before looking up at the clock on the wall, causing John's eyes to follow his gaze. It was ten to six. "I don't mean to sound rude but I need to go, I have plans tonight and I'm going to be late."

John was curious to know what kind of plans Sherlock had, but he didn't ask, they weren't exactly best buddies, and he thought it would be a bit weird to ask what he was doing. "That's alright; I have homework and stuff to get done."

Sherlock grabbed his bag and slid the long strap over his shoulder. "Thank you for the coffee and the ice."

"No problem." John said with a smile, getting off the chair to walk him to the door. He chuckled, embarrassed. "Thanks for helping my clean up my face, would have been a bit difficult to do it myself."

Sherlock pulled open the door but stopped before stepping out. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should. Eventually he just settled for "Thankyou."

"Really, it's fine. I'll ah… see you tomorrow?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled a little before walking out the door, eyes dropping to his phone as soon as he was walking down the path. The driver got out and opened the door for him and he slid in gracefully, not looking away from what he was doing.

John closed the door and limped back into the kitchen, taking his time to clean up the first aid kit. He was alone now, so he didn't bother to hide the hisses and groans of pain every time he moved wrong or put too much weight on his leg. He didn't know how he was going to manage getting around school the next day, but he told himself he'd deal with that when the time came.

At 6 he made his way upstairs, expecting to have to apologise for being a few minutes late, but when he signed on he was surprised to find that Lament975 wasn't on yet. He settled on his bed, stretching out his sore leg, and pulled out his book to read while he waited. He finished it quickly, he hadn't had much left to read, and wasted time on the internet while he waited. He was annoyed to find that news of his fight with Anderson was all over face book, though he was glad to read that someone who'd seen both of them leave the school seemed to believe that John had done more damage than Anderson had.

Apparently Anderson was sporting two very good black eyes, a couple of cuts and bruises, he was limping (probably from being tackled over the desks), and was heard complaining that he thought one of his ribs might be bruised or cracked.

A beep from his speakers told him he'd received a message and he closed his facebook tab and opened up his chat window.

**Lament975: **Sorry I'm late, I got held up.

**Host975: **No problem, gave me a chance to catch up on some reading anyway. How was school for you today?

**Host975: ** Wait let me guess, Interesting, right?

**Lament975: **What would you say if I said you were wrong, that I was going to say something else?

**Host9975:** I'd call you a liar.

**Lament975: ** And you'd probably be right. It was pretty interesting.

**Host975: **Did you hear about the fight?

**Lament975: **The one between John Watson and Anderson? It's all over facebook, I think everyone knows about it now.

**Host975: ** Yeah I wouldn't be surprised. I heard it was pretty bad. Though with rumours you never know what's true and what's not.

**Lament975: **Yes, and no doubt most of what's being said isn't true. And I'm sure there will be twice as many incorrect rumours by the end of tomorrow.

**Host975: **No doubt. Not that it really matters, people will think what they want to.

**Lament975: **All I need to know is that Anderson is an idiot, and that enough information for me to get an idea of what happened today.

**Host975: **Haha, well you're not wrong there.

**Host975: **I finished that book by the way.

**Lament975: **Tell me you hated the main character as much as I did?

**Host975: **Oh god she was annoying wasn't she! All she did was whine, and when she wasn't whining she was pining after her partner. You'd think seeing murder everyday would have toughened her up a bit.

**Lament975: **I'm glad you agree, the author is a good writer, but she really made a mistake with that character. Did you guess who the murderer was?

**Host975: **Yeah about halfway through. When she found the blood splatter on the trophy.

**Lament975: **You got that much quicker than I thought, most people don't figure it out until they find the watch.

**Host975: **No it was pretty obvious. Not the best book I've read, but it was alright. What do you want to read next?

**Lament975: **You can pick what we read next. Take a look around the library or something and let me know tomorrow night.

John agreed and then they chatted about the book for a while longer before they were interrupted by the doorbell.

**Host975: **I'll be back in a minute.

"Just a minute," He called down the stairs as he limped down at the fastest speed he could manage without hurting himself. When he finally got downstairs he was surprised to see a delivery boy on the other side. "Uh hey… I think you've got the wrong house." He said, leaning against the door frame.

"No this is the right address." He glanced down at his paper. "Are you John?"

"Yeah, but I didn't order any pizza."

"Yeah I have a message that says it's from your sister Harry, and that it's already paid for." He handed John the box and a receipt and before John could complain or argue he jogged down the drive and got into his little car. John closed the door and opened the pizza box. Just cheese, his mouth watered from the smell, and he carried it upstairs.

He sat and ate half the pizza while chatting to Lament, closing the box and sitting it on his desk next to him when he'd had enough. He knew he'd be asking some questions about that tomorrow, but at the moment he didn't really mind. It was delicious. He stayed online for a few hours talking before he had to give in to his exhaustion and go to bed.

* * *

><p>When he got up in the morning John was in at least 4 times more pain than he expected to be, and standing up bought tears of pain to his eyes. After inspecting his face in the mirror he decided it wasn't too bad, the cuts were kind of obvious, and there was a bruise on his check but otherwise he looked alright. He wrapped a bandage firmly around his leg, making it a little easier to walk on, though it didn't much help with the pain.<p>

He swallowed two more of Sherlock's pain killers and put the box in his bag with a bottle of water for later. When he walked outside he was surprised to see a car out the front of his house, a man in a suit leaning against the door. He walked down the path to his house, eyeing the man cautiously. "Mr Watson?" He asked. John nodded nervously, standing a bit away from him. "Mr Holmes said you might try to walk. I'm here to drive you to school."

"I'm sorry but you understand how I might be a bit hesitant to get in a car with a stranger?"

The man chuckled, nodding approvingly. "I understand that, but I was also given strict orders not to let you walk with an injured leg, and I'd rather not disobey those orders, neither of the Holmes brothers are particularly forgiving when they are disappointed by the employees."

John sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, whatever." He said against his better judgement. "It's not like you couldn't force me if you wanted too anyway." He slid into the backseat, feeling more than a little awkward as the man got back into the car and drove him to school.

A few people looked at him when he got out of the very expensive and fancy looking car at the front of the school, but he did his best to ignore them. "Thanks." He said to the driver, closing the door behind him. He tried to ignore the curious glances from the other student as he walked up to the doors, doing a pretty good job of not making his limp too obvious. Of course it was easy to notice, but it was worth the pain it was causing him to look like it wasn't bothering him too much.

Anderson was his first class of the day, and when he walked in he was very satisfied to see that his face was in a worse state than John's, two proper black eyes visible and looking extremely ugly. He glared at John as he walked in the room and John just smirked and took his seat. His mood only got better when he noticed him clutching at his ribs every time he moved too much.

Thankfully there wasn't any problems during the day, a few of the popular kids, who he'd considered friends before, shot a couple of nasty comments at him, which he simply ignored. Two people gave him a pat on the back as he walked past, which made him feel a bit better about being kicked from his group. At least not everybody hated him. That was two less people who'd want to beat him up when the time came.

When the bell went for lunch he considered not going, it would be embarrassing and weird, he couldn't sit at his old table, and he'd never really made good enough friends with anybody else in his year to ask to sit with them. But if he didn't go it would look like he was scared, and he barely had to stop and think to decide that that was worse than coming and having to find somewhere to sit by himself. He knew there were a few people who chose to sit by themselves, so he wouldn't be the only one, and the few times he'd seen Sherlock in the lunch room he'd been sitting by himself. Of course everybody hated him, but if he could manage with everybody hating him John knew he could manage with only a few people hating him. Couldn't be too hard.

He was moving a bit slower than the other kids who shared the lunch room, but thankfully his classroom was quite close, so he wasn't the last person to get there. He wasn't going to buy anything, but he decided to line up and get a cup of tea from the coffee shop so he could look and find somewhere to sit. He scanned the table while he waited for his tea to be made. Almost all the tables were taken, he was disappointed to see, most them with at least two people at them, most of them more. He could see one empty table, but it was right next to Sally's, Greg's and Andersons table, and it wasn't worth it to sit there.

He was beginning to think he'd have to leave and find somewhere else to sit when he noticed a table across the room with just one person sitting at it, book in hand and bag on the table. John smiled, finding himself glad to see the head of curly black hair, and picked his tea up from the counter, the cardboard mug just keeping his hand from getting burnt. He walked across the room, and stopped beside the table, biting his lip and shifting his weight from his sore leg while he waited for Sherlock to notice him standing there.

A glance to his side showed Anderson's table, and quite a few others, watching intently. He wasn't surprised. Only once before had John seen anybody ask to sit at the same table as Sherlock, and after a moment of quietly spoken words the girl had run from the room sobbing. John felt his heartbeat leap with from his nerves when Sherlock looked up, piercing blue eyes locking onto his own.

"John." He greeted.

"Hey, Sherlock." He greeted back with a hesitant smile. "Can I uh," He motioned to the chair with his spare hand, "sit here with you, I don't want to look presumptuous but um, I figured it might be alright, considering I can't really sit at my old table." He chuckled a little, silently cursing himself for sounding like such a fool.

Sherlock smiled a little, though it looked like it was mostly because he was amused by John's ramblings, and waved his hand invitingly. "Go ahead." He watched as John sat down carefully, sitting his bag in front of him on the table, "I'll just be a moment, please don't speak until then." He said as he turned his eyes back onto his book.

John took a gulp of his tea, scalding his tongue and throat as he swallowed, and opened his bag and dug under his books to pull out his water bottle and the little box of painkillers. Sherlock looked up and closed his book, without a book mark, and sat it on his bag. "I'm glad they helped."

"I never said they did." John said with a small smile as he took two from the packet and slid it back in his bag.

"Yes, but you've bought them today after trying them yesterday, I'd say that's evidence enough to say they worked better than anything you were keeping hidden in your bedroom."

John laughed and nodded. "Yes you are right." He tossed them in his mouth and swallowed them with a big a mouthful of water. "And thankfully they work pretty quickly too, my leg is killing me. I thought it hurt as much as it could yesterday." He rolled his eyes. "Oh how foolish I was, I'll tell you though, the painkillers definitely made it easier to get up and down the stairs."

At this reminder John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "By the way, I get the feeling your too blame for the pizza that got delivered to my house last night?"

Sherlock frowned and leaned back. "What?"

"A delivery guy showed up at my house last night with a paid for pizza and a note saying it was from my sister Harry for dinner." John leaned back in his seat and waited for Sherlock to say something.

"So it had a note saying it was from your sister, but you think I sent it? I'm wondering how you reached this conclusion in your mind, because logic points to the fact that the pizza was in fact from your sister who ate your dinner and left you nothing to eat."

John snorted. "Harry would never send me pizza for dinner, she was out she didn't have to think about it. She doesn't care if I go hungry, she's too selfish. And you're the only other person who knew she'd eaten my dinner, plus you've kind of made obvious that you have money, which you don't really seem to care for all that much." He shrugged, hoping he wasn't wrong and wasn't going to embarrass himself. "It seemed the most logical explanation to me."

Sherlock smiled, his eyes bright and impressed, and he leaned forward again, inspecting John's face before he shrugged and leaned on the table with his left arm, his right hand moving to stir the plastic spoon that was sitting in his black coffee. "You're smarter than I thought you were." Although it sounded like an insult he said it like a compliment, like people didn't too often surprise him. "I didn't think you'd figure it out until at least after your sister told you she didn't send it. So yes, it was me."

He interrupted John as he started to speak. "And please don't make a fuss of it, as you already pointed out, my money means close to nothing to me, and I owe you for yesterday. Plus it was stupid for you to not eat dinner just because your sister is less than caring."

"Thanks." John answered, drinking more of his tea. "How'd you know I like just cheese?"

Sherlock just tapped the side of his head with one long finger, his eyes glancing over John's shoulder. "Hmm, looks like someone isn't too happy." He murmured, directing John's attention to Anderson's table where Molly sat, a horrified glare on her face as she spoke to Greg beside her. Anderson said anything, and John was surprised her next words were quite clearly 'shut up.'

They spoke for a few moments longer before Molly stood up and grabbed her bag, hitting Greg on the back of the head as she stalked away from the table towards where John and Sherlock were sitting.

She stopped beside John looking a little flustered. She glanced at Sherlock and looked back at John. "John I can't believe that Anderson hit you! He's such a pig, I read it on face book last night that you two were in a fight, but you know how these things are, mostly rumours. I made Greg tell me everything." She put her bag on the table angrily, but her expression was regret full when she looked at Sherlock again. "I wish I'd known they what they were doing… I know I couldn't have done anything, not like John did… but I've been sitting with them every day not knowing the crap they were doing. I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked confused. "Why should it matter to you?" He asked.

"Because I don't think you're a bad guy, you're different, and a little weird, but that's not a bad thing, and they have no right to be so cruel. I'm done with hanging out with them. I just want you two to know I'm on your side of this."

"Thanks Molly." John said, taking her hand and squeezing it for a moment. She squeezed back and smiled. Sherlock eyed their hand for the few seconds they were connected, and glanced at John when they let go.

When Molly started sliding her bag off the table he stopped her with a hand on her bag. "You can sit… if you'd like. I think John could use as many friends as possible right now."

John expression was one of surprise, but he didn't complain. "Thanks Sherlock, but don't forget about yourself."

"What about me?"

"I think you could use some friends right now too. I mean, clearly you've already got John, but I think one more friend can't hurt."

Neither of them said anything, Sherlock frowned and glanced over at John, and John didn't think he noticed it himself, but Sherlock actually looked a little vulnerable. John couldn't help the way that stabbed at his chest , he was confused by how strongly it made him feel, but Sherlock had always seemed so calm and collected from afar, like he liked it that he had no friends, wanted it that way. John thought that maybe Sherlock tried to tell himself he didn't want friends, but the look in his eyes in that moment told John that wasn't the case. Sherlock just wasn't used to having friends. Wasn't used to people wanting to be his friends.

He swallowed and his fingers twitched against the table top. He didn't know how to react or what to say, and John could see from his confused glance at him that he didn't know if John actually considered him a friend. So he took over and spoke for him. He smiled at the other boy warmly, "Yeah, I think we could all use another friend right now. Three is always better than two." Sherlock looked away for a moment, and when he looked back he seemed a bit more composed.

"Thankyou Molly, I appreciate it." He said sincerely.

"It's no problem. I've never really liked them anyway. I only sat with them because John and Greg were there. And now I'm angry at Greg for being so stupid and letting that happen. And you seem like a nice guy… you know, when you're not making people cry." She grinned to show she was teasing him, and John chuckled.

"I don't think he knows your joking with him Molly." He laughed, giving Sherlock a playful smile.

He seemed a little confused, but not like it bothered him.

Molly giggled and pulled a bag of crisps out of her bag. "Hungry" She asked, opening them and offering them to John who took a few, and Sherlock who shook his head, before taking one herself.

"How'd you hurt your hand?" He asked, nodding to the bandage John had noticed on her hand the day before.

"Oh I slipped in the kitchen on the weekend, landed badly." She replied quickly, twiddling her fingers while she looked at her hand.

"Anything serious?" He continued, eyes locked on her face.

"No, just a bit of bruising and an ache, it's pretty easy to ignore." Surprise flittered across his face, but it was gone so quick Molly didn't notice.

"Hmm, interesting." He muttered, turning his attention back to his coffee.

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "What are you not saying?"

Blue eyes flashed to Molly's face, back down to his coffee. "Nothing. It's unimportant; she'd tell you if she wanted too."

"What's he talking about?" Molly asked quietly.

"He knows something."

"What do you know?" She asked, and she appeared to be torn between curiosity and nervousness.

Sherlock stared at her, his blue eyes intense, he took a sip of his tea and folded his hand in front of himself, long fingers entwined. "I know your lying about what happened to your hand, I know exactly what happened to it, and who did it, and I know that you haven't told anyone what really happened because you don't want them to get in trouble." He looked away when he was done, frowning at the table, looking concerned, resigned, and slightly fearful. That look on his face was almost enough to distract John from he said.

"What happened Molly, who did it?" He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. He lifted her hand and she didn't stop him as he unwrapped the messy bandage and examined her hand, keeping his concern from his face as much as he could. The hand was bruised over both the top of her hand and her palm, and there was a large number of cuts covering her palm, 2 of them quite large and painful looking.

She sighed and shook her head. "My sister, we got in a fight, she didn't do it on purpose, and I don't want her to get in trouble for a mistake. She didn't mean it." John said nothing and carefully bandaged it again, handing her two of the painkillers Sherlock had given him.

"Thank you." She murmured, swallowing them with a sip of Johns drink.

"Don't thank me, they're Sherlock's. And don't worry, if it's what you want I won't tell anyone, I know what it's like to want to keep things to yourself for someone else."

"I've no interest in gossip." Sherlock said simply. "Your secret is yours to tell, not mine."

"Thanks guys." She said, relaxing a little, leaning back in her seat to eat a few more chips. Offering them to John again. He took some more. Sherlock refused again.

"I need to go to the library before lunch ends, I need to go take this book back." She held up the book John had seen her with yesterday.

"Oh what did you think of it?" He asked curiously. He noticed Sherlock eye the book curiously.

"It was alright. Bit annoying. The main character was a bit annoying wasn't she?"

John laughed. "Yeah, couldn't stand her."

"That seems to be a common agreement." Sherlock cut in. "Did you figure out who it was when they found the watch?"

'Oh no, it was so obvious after the blood on the trophy."

John laughed and nodded, munching on a few more chips. "I'll come with to the library; I want to look around anyway." They stood up and gathered their stuff. "You coming too Sherlock?" He asked when Sherlock hadn't moved.

He seemed surprised for a moment then his face went back to its usual blank, uncaring expression as he nodded and stood up, gathering his stuff and walking with them across the large room.

"See ya freaks." Sally called as they passed.

Sherlock glanced at her as they passed and smirked, looking a little sadistic, John thought. "Have you told Anderson the condom broke when you had sex, and that you're not on the pill." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "And your late for your period too, now that's a situation isn't it." He turned away and continued walking as the people around them started in shock and Sally and Anderson. Usually John would have thought that was harsh, but he simply laughed and followed, Molly walking next to him with an amused smile on her face.

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><p>John and Molly searched the shelves at the library together, Sherlock trailing a little bit behind them, plucking things off the shelf delicately, skimming the blurbs before dropping them back in the place. John and Molly read blurbs together, talking about if that book sounded good, or this one sounded crap, they'd review a review here or there saying it was good.<p>

"See anything good so far?" John asked.

"Hmm, how about this, looks pretty good." She handed him the book she'd was holding. He inspected the cover. It was called A Game of Thrones.

"Isn't this a tv show?" He asked, flipping it to read the blurb.

"Yeah, it's really good. And the books sound amazing."

John nodded when he finished the blurb and handed her back the book. "My mum loved fantasy, so I probably have it at home somewhere." He turned to where Sherlock was standing, a little bit down the shelf. "You found anything, Molly found one." She held up the book to show him and he wandered over to them.

"I've heard good things about that series." He said. "The bell is about to go, are you ready to go?"

The bell rang just as he finished speaking and John nodded. Picking up his bag from where he'd sat it on the ground.

"Did you two want to come out for lunch after school?" Molly asked, picking up her bag. "We can go to the shops and get some chips or burgers or something. I can drive."

"Yeah that sounds pretty good." John said, thinking it would be nice to go out with some friends. "You want to come Sherlock?"

The taller teen just nodded, hands in his coat pockets. "That sounds… pleasant."

"Alright, meet me at the car, you know where I park John. See you later Sherlock." She said with a smile, heading over to the counter to borrow her book while John and Sherlock left to go to class. Sherlock didn't speak, just tapped at his phone, seeming preoccupied. John smiled. Being rid of his old friends didn't seem as bad as he thought it was going to be.

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><p><strong>I know, not much happened this chapter, but I figure it's better than nothing, and next chapter I can start getting into Sherlock and johns developing friendship much more. <strong>


	5. Nostalgia

**Hey guys.  
>I am really sorry this took so long, I was rather caught up with university work, and I was pretty sick for a few weeks, ended up in hospital and everything.<strong>

**This chapter is shorter than the last one, sorry. And it's going to be a bit rough, because I couldn't go over it completely. So I'm sorry for any mistakes. **

**I'll check it tomorrow. But I thought you might at least like this posted for you to read.**

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><p>Sherlock's eyes stayed mostly attached to his phone screen through most of the next lesson, and for most of their walk to where Molly parked her car, a street over from the school. John didn't mind it, he didn't really have much to talk about anyway and he was surprised but just how comfortable he actually felt just walking beside Sherlock not speaking. He glanced at the taller teen a few times and almost every time he was looking at his screen, thumbs tapping incredibly quickly at the little keys. He didn't seem to even notice John looking.<p>

"This is it." He said loudly as they reached Molly's car, and even though he didn't look up Sherlock seemed to hear him because he stopped beside him and continued typing. John leaned back against the boot of the car and rested his bag beside him. Molly wouldn't mind, he did it all the time. Molly's car was in pretty good condition, it was only a few years old and the nice blue paint had only a few scratches none of which were there by any fault of Molly's.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked without looking at John.

"To get chips, remember." The look John received from that comment was a lot less than friendly.

"I'm not an imbecile John, I do recall Molly inviting us to get chips a little over an hour ago." He looked like he wanted to continue but he caught himself and cleared his throat, doing his best to remove the frown from his face. "I think you misunderstood my question, I didn't mean what are we doing, I want to know where we are going, what shop?"

"Oh, probably the one a couple of streets from my house, the chips are great and it makes it easier when Molly's driving me home, less distance to drive."

"Is it the closest to your house in the area?" Eyes back on his phone screen.

"Yeah, I don't know the full address, but I can give you the street name if you'd like?"

"No, I don't need it, I've already figured out the one you're talking about." He tapped for another few seconds and slid his phone into a pocket inside his coat before his hands moved to slide inside the pockets on his pants. "Why are we going to get chips?"

"What?"

"What's the purpose, why are we going out and getting lunch? Is there an occasion, do we need to discuss something important, are we meeting somebody?"

John raised his eyebrows and leaned his elbows back to support his weight better. "We're going to get chips because that's what mates do, they hang out and get lunch. We're friends, so we are going to get chips, hang out, chat and have some fun."

"It bothers you," Sherlock stated abruptly, keeping their eyes locked, "It bothers you that I don't know something so simple and normal."

John shook his head. "No, it doesn't bother me that you don't know because it's not your fault; it's the reason why you don't know that bothers me."

"What doesn't Sherlock know?"

John pushed off the car and smiled at Molly as she approached the car. "Don't worry, it doesn't matter." His eyes flashed to Sherlock and then he grinned at Molly. "Just something about the football Sherlock didn't know, it's a bit of a guy thing." Molly laughed and unlocked the car, walking to get in the driver's seat.

"Do you want the front seat?" He offered Sherlock, standing back a little so he could choose where he sat. He simply shook his head and climbed into the back seat. John shrugged and got in the front seat. "Alright, let's go get some food, I'm starving."

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><p>Lunch went pretty well, John thought. Sherlock stayed pretty quiet for most of the afternoon, leaving a majority of the talking to Molly and John, but more towards the end of the afternoon he joined in the conversation a little, small comments or observations joining in the discussion in his usual quiet voice. John was glad to see he was trying to join in a little, but he was worried that he hadn't enjoyed himself much. He hardly touched the chips, just picked at them and only ate a few. He didn't complain though, and stayed for the entire afternoon.<p>

Molly asked if he needed a lift home when they were ready to leave, and after hearing that he needed to wait for a bit and then his driver would come John said he could come back and wait at his house until he could go home. He didn't really want Sherlock there while Harry was there, but he wasn't going to leave him alone at the shop to wait to get picked up. That wouldn't be fair, and he knew Anderson and his group sometimes came here.

"Want something to drink?" John asked as he let them into the house and walked straight through to the kitchen to get himself something.

"No thank you."

He poured himself a glass of water and led Sherlock out of the kitchen. He glanced into the living room where he could hear the television playing. Harry was on the couch, glass in hand, it looked like coke but he knew there was probably rum in there with it. "Harry, I have a friend here, we're going up to my room. Please leave us alone and don't annoy us. "

He quickly closed the door and cut off whatever she was going to say. "My rooms upstairs, I hope you don't mind waiting up there. Believe me; it's better than sitting in a room with her while you wait." He rolled his eyes and headed towards the stairs. He was still in a lot of pain, and had to lean on the bannister the whole way up. Sherlock didn't complain about the slow pace or say anything about it, and John gave him a grateful glance before going down the hall to his bedroom.

John was a pretty neat kind of person, his bed was made, everything tucked in pretty neatly, his floor was clear except for two small book piles, one by his bed and one by the small couch that was across the room from his door. The foot of his bed was directly left when you walked in the door, and the desk was against the left wall, in front of the window and beside the bed, his laptop sitting on top of it open but with a blank screen. He placed his bag at the foot of his bed and walked over to the desk to plug in his laptop and put down his glass of water.

Sherlock, after a moment of hesitation walked across the room and sat carefully on the couch; his bag pulled off his shoulder and sat next to him. "It's a bit small, but I don't really need more room than this anyway." John said as he hung his coat on the back of the door. He kicked his shoes off and lined them up next to his bag at the end of the bed, untucking his shirt under his sweater as he did so.

"You're very neat, you're almost obsessive about it." Sherlock observed quietly, almost to himself.

"How do you know I didn't just clean my room yesterday or something? I could actually be just as messy as any other teenager."

"There's almost no dust in here, so you clean regularly, everything is organised and the bed was made today, unless you slept elsewhere last night, though judging by your injuries that seems unlikely. Your bookshelf is extremely organised, different genre each shelf, then organised alphabetically by Author, then by series then by book." His lips twitched and he folded his hands on his lap. "Do you need to hear more?"

John chuckled and shook his head, waving a hand at Sherlock to make sure he didn't continue. "Alright, you got me; I'm a bit of a neat freak. Just in my room. It's not so bad with the rest of the house but this is like… my personal space, I like it to be organised and constant. Otherwise it wouldn't be a place to relax."

He slid onto his bed and crossed his legs, shifting back so he could lean against the wall and look at Sherlock who was across the small room. "You know you're not too bad Sherlock, you're a bit rude sometimes I'll admit, and there's no point in denying that you're a bit different, but it's cool. You're a good guy; you just seem to have yourself stuck in a place that's not too good."

"You mean disliked by every student and almost every teacher in the school?" No emotion behind the words, just a statement of fact. He accepted it, took it as it was and couldn't see it being any different. It made John want to hit someone, anyone, whoever had let him think like he did.

"You're not disliked by every student," he countered, "I like you, and Molly does too."

Sherlock still seemed unsure, there wasn't full trust in those blue eyes of his, there was instead a sliver of doubt, it was small and almost went un-noticed, but John was pretty observant. He leaned forward and leaned against his knees. "You don't entirely believe me do you?"

Sherlock didn't answer him, and didn't continue looking at John's face. He turned his attention to his lap, where his fingers were tapping some pattern that was probably the tune for a song or something. "It's not exactly that I don't believe you, you seem quite believable, you've given me no reason to doubt you, and I didn't observe any signs of you lying when you spoke." He peered up at John and it was clear that he was uncomfortable. "I just don't understand it."

John chuckled and grinned. "You can't understand everything Sherlock, no matter how hard you try. Some things you just need to accept as they are. I like you, I want to be your friend, Molly likes you and wants to be your friend too. There's not much more to it than that, try not to over think it because then you'll start to doubt it."

"Tell me why."

"Why what, you need to be specific."

"Why do you wish to be my friend?"

John pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his left knee. "I don't know, that's not really the kind of question people ask, it's hard to answer. Does it really matter?"

"I'd like to know." He slid off his shoes and pulled his feet up too, mimicking the way John was sitting, hugging his knees.

"Well I don't know. I thought I was pretty cool with my old mates you know, thought they were alright and I'll admit I was pretty chuffed with being popular, but then I find out that my mates are being dicks behind my back." He sighed and shrugged as best as he could with his arms still wrapped around his legs. "And then you come along, and even after I stood there and let them hit you, you were still pretty damn nice. And I know we didn't really speak until after I stopped them that second time, but I still let it happen the first time, any other person would have still hated me."

"So you want to be my friend because I didn't hold a grudge?"

"No that's not what I mean, you're just a good guy. You're different, you seem to have no understanding of what it's like to have friends or how to act in a social situation, but that doesn't bother me at all, if I'm going to be honest it actually makes me a bit sad. And angry," The noise from the television was floating up the stairs, Harry was watching some music channel, and John almost laughed at the fact that they were having a serious discussion with pop music in the background. They both ignored it though, and stared at each other from across the room.

"It doesn't make me angry at you though. I'm angry at whoever made you how you are. You shouldn't have to be confused by things like this, it's… it's not right."

Sherlock looked away and studied a poster hung up on John's wall. "I can't really explain it, but I like you, and I want to be your friend."

"I don't have friends." Sherlock said without looking at him, and then added even quieter, "I never have, and I don't know how to."

John jumped as the bedroom door opened to his right and Harry stepped in, eyes moving from John, to Sherlock who was still sitting in the same position as him. "Hey we met yesterday yeah?"

"Yes we did."

"It's Sherlock isn't it?" he nodded and she smiled, pleased with herself. "Yes, the gay one."

"Harry!" John snapped furiously. Sherlock's expression hardly changed but for a small twitch at the corner of his lips as he resisted a smile. John didn't care that he was amused by it, it was still rude, and he knew she'd been drinking. "Shut up, get out of my room, and leave my friend alone."

"Hey no offense intended." She held up her hands defensively before one of them moved to grab the doorhandle and swing the door back and forth a little. "And its true isn't it?"

Sherlock slid his feet from the couch and stood, hands slipping into his pockets while his blue/grey eyes scanned Harry's face with a devious glint. All John could think of was the time when he was a kid and saw the neighbour's cat playing with a little mouse it had caught. "I don't know, is it true? You seem to think so, perhaps it's my hair, or maybe the fact that I use skin products, yes I know you noticed. Hmm, and the school uniform you think it's weird I have it tailored to fit perfectly, the way I hold my phone and also the way I held my coffee cup yesterday, seemed a little gay to you didn't it." He smiled pleasantly. "Or perhaps you're convinced because you flirted with me and I didn't flirt back, and of course let's not forget that you think only a gay kid would choose to look away when you're fondling your breasts in front of him." Sherlock smiled and shrugged. "I of course noticed the little game you were playing, so now you need to consider if I was just playing along to make you think I was gay."

Harry stared at him, blinked a few times and then smiled. "Oh you're good."

Sherlock smiled and nodded. "I am."

"You're still gay though."

"That's it." John yelled, getting up from the bed. "Get out, go away, leave Sherlock alone and go downstairs. Go out. Go sleep. I don't care what you do just get out of my bedroom."

She rolled her eyes but allowed him to push her out of the room. "There's a black car out the front." She called a she stumbled across the hall and leant on the wall. John slammed the door and leaned against it when he turned around to face Sherlock.

"I think your ride is here."

"Yes I believe so." He began collecting his things, not moving like he was in any real rush. "Thank you for today it was quite… enjoyable."

"It's no problem, it was fun." John walked downstairs with Sherlock, ignoring the other teen's comments that it would be easier for him to stay upstairs so he wouldn't have to walk back up again.

John was just opening the front door when Harry called from the living room to tell him someone was waiting in the kitchen for them. John glanced sideways at Sherlock and was surprised to see he looked annoyed, almost angry. "Do you know who it is?" He asked quietly.

He didn't answer, and just led the way into the kitchen. There was a man standing by the counter, he looked to be in his twenties and was wearing a nice suit, an umbrella swinging in one hand. Sherlock stood by the door and stared at the ground, though John had no idea why. "What are you doing here Mycroft? Get out, now."

"Come now brother, that's no way to great me. And so rude in anothers house, did you not listen to anything Mummy taught you?"

John frowned and looked between them. "This is your brother?" John smiled hesitantly and offered his hand to Mycroft. "Uh Hey, I'm John."

"Yes, I know who you are." He replied, looking at the offered hand but not taking it. "Sherlock I think it's time we should be leaving. I must say I was quite worried when I heard where you were." He looked around him studying the kitchen, and John didn't know if he should feel offended or self-conscious.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He demanded, crossing his arms across his chest.

"My you are brave," He smirked, "It means I'm concerned for my brothers well-being while he is spending time with you. Single father who barely lives in the house, a sister who spends all her time partying and fighting with her girlfriend, and then there is you. You have good grades, but nothing impressive, you don't keep the best company, and I'd know you'd been in a fight without even looking at you."

"Stop it Mycroft, it's none of your business who I spend time with."

"It is Sherlock. You need to understand John Watson, I'm sure you are a halfway decent boy, but Sherlock is my brother, and he doesn't know what's best for him. I care only what's best for him, and I don't believe that is you. I believe it would be best if you two…. ceased your little friendship now."

John stared open mouthed at the taller Holmes brother and felt anger bubbling inside him. Sherlock still stared at the floor and began to argue but John held up his hand and cut him off, eyes on Mycroft. "Excuse me, but who do you think you are? To come into my house, insult me and tell me that I have to stop being friends with your brother?" He took a step towards the man and glared.

"Do you know who I am John Watson? What kind of power have?"

"I don't give a rats arse who you are!" He yelled angrily. "You're a bloody bastard that's what I know. And you should do your damn research before you come here and say stuff like that, and maybe play a little more bloody attention to your brother. Maybe if you did you'd know I got in a fight defending him from idiots who wanted to beat the crap out of him. Again!"

John was a little satisfied by the surprise that flickered through Mycroft's eyes, which flickered to Sherlock. "You claim you only want what's best for him, but you've not even noticed the fact that he's been getting beaten up every week?" He turned to Sherlock and grabbed his arm, gently, and pulled him over from where he was hiding.

He brushed his curls from his face, and very gently tilted his face up with two fingers under his chin. Sherlock seemed uncomfortable but didn't stop him. With his face tilted up Mycroft got a full view of the bruising around his eye. "I wonder, did you even know that he had no friends? And then you have the nerve to come in here and tell him that the only friend he does have isn't good enough?" John snorted and shook his head. "You are a fool, and I don't care how much bloody power you have, I'm not going to stop being friends with Sherlock because you 'think' you know what's best for him."

He moved his hand from Sherlock's chin and patted him on the arm. "I'd appreciate it if you left now."

There was an awkward moment where John thought Mycroft wasn't going to leave. He stared at Sherlock's face for a moment and then strode past them. "I apologise." He mumbled as he walked out the door. John waited until he heard the front door close and then let go of Sherlock and leant against the counter and exhaled, his breath shaky.

"Jesus, your brother is intimidating." He muttered eyes on Sherlock. "I'm ah… I'm sorry for telling him, about you being hit, it seems like you wanted to keep it to yourself."

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, and John thought it looked like he was holding back tears. "You alright mate? I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing, but I meant it. I'm not going to just stop being your friend because he says so. You're worth more than he seems to believe."

"It's fine." He muttered, leaning against the wall. He seemed unsure of what to say or do, he glanced at the door like he thought he should follow his brother, but it seemed like he didn't really want to do it. "I can't believe you just stood up to my brother like that. Nobody does. He has a lot of power in high places."

"I really don't care mate; he shouldn't have done what he did."

Sherlock eyes John, studied him, and looked at his face and his general appearance. There was something in his eyes but John couldn't place what it was. "You are something else John Watson." He murmured. "I believe I should go now, I have homework, and places I need to be."

"Alright, you going to sit with me and Molly tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'd like that." John walked him to the door and waited while he picked up his bag. He lifted a hand and awkwardly patted John's arm, like he didn't know what else to do to show his appreciation.

John rolled his eyes and pulled him in for a quick hug, squeezing him and patting him on the back. Sherlock smiled at John when he pulled back. "Seemed like you might need a hug, after meeting your brother I doubt you get them all that often."

"That is correct."

"Well good thing I did it then. See you tomorrow Sherlock.

"I'll pick you up in the morning if you'd like."

"That'd be great."

"Also I was wondering… I need to practise my violin piece for my final exam… would you be willing to listen and, maybe give me feedback. I know you don't study music, but you seem to have an ear for it, and it appears the listener sometimes knows better than the composer." He cheeks turned a little pink and John laughed.

"Yeah no problem, I enjoyed listening to you before."

"Thankyou John." Sherlock gave him one last smile before he walked out the door and left in his brothers fancy car.

"Oh come on, that was so gay, you can't tell me that wasn't a little gay."

John turned to glare at his sister and crossed his arms. She had been leaning out of their sight watching the exchange. "What Harry, you're not making sense."

"He just invited you to privately listen to him play music, that's extremely gay. And the way he acted when you hugged him, blushed and everything."

"Did you meet his brother? He probably hasn't had a hug in bloody years the poor bastard."

He walked past her and she followed, eyeing him suspiciously, hands in her pockets. "And what about you, are you gay John?"

John spluttered and blushed, giving her a look. "What, when have I ever given you that impression?"

"Since you started hanging out with that Sherlock kid, though I'll admit I thought it before. You never bring girls home, and I hardly ever see you showing any interest them, that's not normal for a teenage boy John. You're probably not gay and don't know it."

John sighed in frustration and flicked on the kettle. "Do you think everyone is gay Harry?"

"No, just the people who act like it."

He dropped a tea bag into a mug, and leaned against the bench, silently willing the kettle to boil a little faster. John had never really gone out of his way to actually consider his sexuality. He liked girls, they were beautiful and sexy, and he knew he was attracted to them, so he definitely wasn't gay. "I'm not gay, I find girls attractive." But… he was surprised to find himself considering what it might be like to kiss another guy. Was he supposed to think it sounded gross? It seemed like it would be much the same as kissing a girl. Was there really a difference?

Harry laughed and patted him on the head affectionately, leaning beside him. Their arms touched, and neither of them moved. She seemed happy that he allowed the contact. He was usually pretty quick to walk away or tell her to get lost. "That doesn't mean you're straight, it just means you aren't gay."

"Well I don't know, I've never kissed a bloke have I. And I've never thought about either." Harry's expression implied she knew something he didn't, but she didn't push the subject. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and he didn't pull away, just rested his head on her shoulder. He'd regret it he knew. He shouldn't allow her to do this, show him little bits of love when she was mostly sober, it only made it worse when she got drunk again and just didn't care. But after everything that had been going on recently it was nice to have his older sister actually acting like an older sister.

"You know I'm proud of you John." She hugged him properly and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her waist. "Life's not fair to you, dad isn't fair to you… and neither am I. I'm glad to see you trying to help this Sherlock kid. He seems a little messed up. You're a good guy to be his friend and help him. I heard you tell off his brother. That was brave. And you didn't have to do it."

Though John didn't want to admit it he had missed Harry's hugs. He really hadn't got them too much since their mother had died, so he let her hold him until the kettle boiled. He silently made them both a drink and he followed her back to the living room. They curled up together on the couch under a blank and watched crappy tv for the hour before John had before he had to get online and chat to Lament. He mentally scolded himself for doing it, for being friendly with Harry like this and letting himself hope for more of this. He was setting himself up for disappointment, and his heart ached a little at the thought. But he decided some time like this was better than none. They laughed at the stupid people on the shows and chatted, not about anything too important. Harry wanted to know about the stuff going on with Sherlock, so John filled her in properly on the situation.

When it finally reached six he reluctantly left the warmth of the blanket and the comfort of Harry's shoulder of his arm. But when he sat down and started typing he had a smile on his face, and though it would only be bad again tomorrow he was glad for the little amount of time he got with his sister today.

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><p><strong>Sorry it's not a lot guys, I'm already working on the next chapter though. I promise to try and post more regular now. <strong>


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